What if Joe were a King?
by twisted-coil
Summary: Just a little fun...not sure how far I'll be going!
1. Default Chapter

OK guys…this is totally off the wall! Decided to have a little fun with a 'reversed' situation: what if Joe were a King, and Clarisse a maid? Not sure if this is a one-shot or not, as yet…

As per usual, King Joseph was in his study…having missed afternoon tea and dinner, and making his way straight on to the whisky. It was after eleven, and he still had several letters that he wanted answered by the time his personal secretary, Carlos, arrived the next morning. He knew he was a mean task-master, and most probably his own worst enemy, but he was a stubborn old thing, determined to have everything finished perfectly and in its place before he settled down for the night.

Everyone in the palace knew very well to leave him to his work – he did not appreciate interruptions and, since the death of his wife, three years ago, he had grown increasingly detached and consumed by his books and papers. He took little time for himself, attended few engagements and, although not exactly retiring from public life, had withdrawn from his former exuberant self.

Rubbing his eyes for the third time in ten minutes, he sighed and stretched his back. Groaning softly, he reached for his pen with one hand, and the crystal whisky glass with the other. He glanced up at the clock and shook his head a little… 'Fine companions these…'

Returning his attention to the sheet of paper in front of him, he tried in vain to concentrate. It was simply no use. He was tired and, something more…he was distracted. Setting his pen down again, he stood up and made his way to the window. Taking a sip of the fiery liquid, savouring the burn as it slid down his throat, warming him, if only for an instant, he gazed out over the darkened lawns.

It was this morning when he'd noticed her, walking Maurice, the late Queen's dog round the grounds. He'd never noticed her before…she must be new. She was probably around the same age as him, but it was difficult to tell. She had an almost timeless beauty, classic, and yet distinct. He sighed, shaking his head, convincing himself of his recklessness… 'Joseph, Joseph, this really won't do…she's just an employee.'

Hmmm…He had seen her again in the afternoon, and their eyes had met across the entrance hall. He had smiled, and she had seemed genuinely surprised, meeting his gaze…and then smiling back, almost in spite of herself.

Later he had asked Carlos about her. Apparently, she was the new housekeeper, to be in charge of the running of the palace, appointed in a hurry after Mrs Simmons' sudden death last month. An English woman, with extensive experience in the royal palaces of Windsor and Sandringham. He would meet her in the morning.

Her name was Clarisse.


	2. A Royal Appointment

A/n OK, so maybe this one could be a bit of fun… No idea where it will end up, but hopefully it'll provide some giggles!

Joseph was in the middle of a call to the French Prime Minister, when Carlos escorted the new housekeeper into his study. It wasn't a private call…indeed, it was rather a dull nicety, but, nevertheless, it afforded the King of Genovia the opportunity to observe his newest employee as she waited for him to finished. Clearly uneasy at sitting, waiting for him to finish, she had wandered over to the huge bay windows that opened out onto the terrace, and was surveying the gardens. It was a beautifully sunny day outside, and she was clearly enjoying the view.

So, indeed, was the King, although his eyes were rather fixed on a different subject. Feeling rather like a naughty schoolboy, he couldn't help but admire her style. Not at all like his image of a housekeeper…not at all like Mrs Simmons, he thought, an involuntary smile working its way across his lips. She was lovely. Exquisitely dressed, conservative, but stylish…and with a certain quirky twist. He loved the slick Chanel sunglasses perched on the top of her head.

"Joseph, are you still there?"

The voice on the other end brought him rapidly down to earth with a jolt. What was he thinking? Here he was, in conversation with the Prime Minister of France, and he was checking out the hired help. Honestly.

After a few more minutes, their conversation reached a natural hiatus, and, bidding each other farewell, they hung up. His alibi now gone, Joseph clicked into formal mode.

"Please, take a seat."

She turned, and flashed him a smile that quite possibly could have made him weak at the knees, were he not already seated.

"Thank you, your Majesty."

"Can I offer you a coffee? Having been on the phone for nearly an hour, I must say I'm rather in need of one…"

"I'd love a cup of tea, if that could be arranged."

He smiled, a little taken aback by her request. He knew the English loved their tea, but weren't they also meant to be painfully reticent and notoriously formal? Picking up the phone again, he asked Carlos to arrange it. He glanced down at the papers on his desk.

"I've been looking over your file…very impressive."

She smiled, her cheeks colouring a little, he noticed.

"Thank you, your Majesty."

Again, he watched her closely, intrigued by the sparkle in her eyes when she smiled, fascinated by the way she held his gaze.

Suddenly he realised he was staring, and looked away quickly, shuffling the pages of her file again to hide his embarrassment. He couldn't have seen the way her eyes widened a little, how she had shifted a little in her seat, her mind furiously processing his actions.

The drinks arrived, and they politely discussed the aspects of her housekeeping duties that would affect him. She clearly knew her job already, and surprised him with her organisation. She outlined her ideas succinctly and eloquently, and he couldn't help but be struck by her perfect diction. As she explained the importance of specialist dry cleaning for the upholstered furniture, he wallowed luxuriously in her liquid voice.

For the second time that afternoon, it was only when she stopped speaking that he realised that he had stopped listening to her point. She smiled, almost as if she knew, and asked her question again. He smiled back, and folding his hands in his lap, pondered his answer,

"Yes, you will answer ultimately to me. Although, as I'm sure you'll understand, the, uh, finer details of housekeeping are often outside my field of specialisation…"

She laughed, a beautiful, rich laugh, and he flashed her a cheeky glance.

The telephone rang, and he reached over to answer it.

"Yes, Carlos…thank you. Five minutes."

He hung up and, raising his hands a little in apology, stood,

"I'm afraid that my next appointment has arrived. The leader of the opposition."

She stood too, and, looking politely impressed, held out her hand for him to shake. He too stretched out his hand, and clasped hers firmly. It was a simple gesture, one which he repeated countless times every day, of every year. Was it because he hesitated a moment before releasing her hand? Or was it because their hands seemed to mould against each other perfectly? He couldn't tell. All he knew, as she closed the door carefully behind her as she left, was that this particular handshake had felt undeniably as if he had just swept her into his arms and, swooping her low, kissed her with a passion he hadn't felt for years.

For the first time in his life, Joseph wondered if he might have to rethink his resolute scepticism on love at first sight.


	3. Dangerous thoughts?

That evening, as she leant against the sink in her bathroom, carefully removing her make-up, Clarisse couldn't draw her mind back from the peculiar events of the afternoon. She'd been so terribly nervous about meeting the King, something which, of course, she had hidden masterfully behind a well-practiced mask of coolness. She wondered if perhaps she had been too formal? He had seemed so desperate to relax the tone of the conversation. Was such a thing possible? Could one be too formal with a king? She severely doubted it.

But he had been quite different to what she had been led to believe. The other staff had warned that he could be aloof and awkward, especially with new people. That he spoke little and expected the same courtesy from his employees. But the man, she faltered a little, her mind making the automatic correction, the King, she had met, had seemed none of these things. He had been relaxed and pleasant. It had been she who had been a little frosty. He hadn't come across as aloof at all...distracted, maybe, but that was crucially different. He had seemed genuinely pleased to meet her, and yet, she suspected, he hadn't listened to a word of anything she had said. He had looked a little tired...his eyes had lit up when he smiled, but then, when his secretary had called, the spark had gone.

Scolding herself at the kind of frivolous pondering she often accused the maids of indulging in, she quickly splashed her face with cold water. Drying her cheeks, she peered at her reflection in the mirror. Without the make-up she looked older...less perfected, yes, but more relaxed. She _should _probably relax a bit more, she knew that, kick up her heels and take time to enjoy herself more, but she had her duties. She had lived in service all her adult life and, whilst there were moments when she wondered what she might have been like in another world, this _was _her world. And, for the most part, she enjoyed it.

Wrapping her robe tightly around her, she walked through to her bedroom. Clicking on the bedside lamp, she picked up her book, and slid in between the sheets. It was already midnight, and she had to be in her office and working by seven, but this didn't concern her. She never slept properly anyway. A good book made the nights easier though, as did a warm mug of cocoa, and this evening she had both.

Clarisse was not the only one who suffered from insomnia. In his study, Joe was ploughing through his appointment diary for the next month. It didn't look good...so many people, so many parties. He was too old for this now, too tired. Physically, he knew he was in excellent shape for a man of his age, he swam daily, would ride several times a week and, when he could escape, usually on a Sunday morning, he would happily walk for miles in the countryside. But he was tired all the same. Today had been typically dull...paperwork all morning, a rather lonely lunch, an interminabely boring conversation with the French PM, then nearly three hours spent with that whining fool, the leader of the opposition.

Except her. She had been anything but dull. She was enchanting.

He glanced once again at the file in front of him, looking at her security picture. It was her eyes...the way she looked straight at him, into him almost. She would be impossible to lie to. The information in the file was sparse, but it was enough. She had no remaining family, her father died when she was young, her mother a few years ago. She had no dependents, and, it would appear from the typed details in front of him, she had an impeccable record of service. She had been married once, in her twenties, but it appeared to have ended in divorce soon after. Again, his eyes fell on the photo. For a moment, he wondered if this sudden passion wasn't simply the natural result of his self-imposed celibacy after his wife's death? Was he not just lonely, and fancying a fling before he was well and truly on the scrap-heap?

No. He had known for sure the moment she had left the room. Yes, he had wanted to take her into his arms there and then, but most of all he had wanted for her to shut up about carpets and tell him something about herself. There was something deeply complex about her, something which almost made him want to order her back and spend the rest of the afternoon with him. To hell with protocol and appointments. But instead, he had spent the next three hours discussing the creation of new ministerial portfolios. Not that she had not been on his mind, though.

Idly, he wondered what this might mean. Wondered if she might also have felt the spark when their hands had met? Wondered how he could find out without compromising her? He smiled, realising for the first time that day he no longer felt tired. Setting down the file, he picked up his pen and began composing the note.


	4. Second thoughts?

The weekend passed reasonably quickly for Joseph…Saturday was spent in meetings with the archbishop and the Prime Minister, and then followed by dinner with his son, Pierre, who had arrived for a flying visit that afternoon. Sunday, he managed a long-overdue lie-in, sleeping until 7.30, rather than his usual 6 am sharp, and then spent the morning riding his favourite mare around the grounds. In the afternoon, he ensconced himself in his study and caught up on private correspondence.

To say he was relaxed, though, wouldn't be entirely accurate. He felt like a teenager with a crush, involuntarily holding his breath each time he turned a corner, entered a new room, just in case he bumped into her by accident. Pierre had noticed something was up immediately, and had almost got it out of him after plying his father with several brandies. Not quite enough though, and the young man had left Sunday afternoon deeply suspicious, but nonetheless pleased by his father's uncharacteristic cheerfulness.

It was just after eight when Joseph finally set down his pen and leant back into his chair, propping his feet up on the edge of the desk. He still had the note, and now his eyes fell to the envelope lying conspicuously atop the pile of work that Carlos would collect promptly at nine the next morning. He still wasn't entirely sure about it…but, then again, was there any other way to engage her at this point? He had only met her two days ago.

God…was that all? Already he was finding it difficult to think of a single moment in these past few days when she hadn't been in his thoughts somewhere… And he hadn't even seen her. Sharply, he wondered if she was perhaps avoiding him…but no, that was just being paranoid. Of course she avoided him, he was the King, the staff were not meant to hang round his rooms on the off-chance of a chat.

He glanced again at the envelope. It almost seemed to glare back at him, daring him to send it, daring him to throw it away. For God's sake, it was just a letter. He shook his head, irritated at his own childishness. She was hardly going to fall for a nervous schoolboy, was she? Unconsciously squaring his shoulders, he made his decision…the same decision he'd been in the process of making all weekend. The decision, indeed, that he'd already made on Friday night. Yes, this was the only way of getting to know her properly, of letting her get to know him. It didn't mean anything…it didn't _have_ to mean anything. His dithering was simply the illustration of how much he hoped it might…He picked up his pen and leaning over, he signed her name on the envelope with a flourish, signed it before he lost the nerve to do it, and then sat back heavily in the seat.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Apart from Sunday afternoons, weekends registered little change in Clarisse's routine. She got up early, and spent her days making sure the household staff were working efficiently, planning the tasks for the week ahead, and dealing with any paperwork that had run over. Although she was relatively new in the house, she had quickly adjusted everything to her liking. All in all, it was a beautifully run palace, and the staff were charming and hard-working. In truth, she was the happiest she had been for a long time.

As Sunday lunch drew to a close in the staff kitchen, she politely excused herself and went to walk in the gardens. She loved walking and, with her newfound friend Maurice - who, it seemed, had taken to her on sight – she adored the extensive grounds. It was a warm day and, slipping on her expensive shades, and grabbing Mo's lead from the table by the garden door, she stepped out into the sun. Clearly pleased to be out himself, Mo bounced crazily over the path in front of her, narrowly missing a potted miniature orange tree as he dashed round a corner. She laughed throatily, and shook her head.

Alone with her thoughts now though, she found herself thinking once again about his Majesty…King Joseph…hmmm…Joseph….

She hadn't sleep at all well on Friday…and in the darkness of her room, drifting in and out of sleep, her subconscious taking control, it had been his smile that she had seen. Again and again. She had felt his hand warm against hers, lingering a second. The flash in his eyes, the…she sighed. This simply couldn't happen. No. Now way. It was neither appropriate, nor was it conscionable. One simply didn't fall for one's employer, let alone the king of the country in which one was currently residing. No. Most definitely not. Never.

Mo barked loudly and she smiled…talk about perceptive.

"I know, I know…the lady doth protest too much…"

He barked again, and she threw the ball.

Seriously though, she couldn't allow it. She could not compromise herself. In this business, reputation and dignity were everything. Everything. And anyway, how could he possibly be interested in her? Moreover, even if he was, it would be only for one thing. She'd seen it happen before…good women, honest and loyal, taken advantage of and then left hanging.

But was he like that? He'd seemed so…No. Absolutely not. No. And no again. This was not a train of thought that could be followed.

She suddenly felt unbearably cold. The sun was still shining brightly, but her shoulders had become chilly. Looking to the trees, she wondered if it were a breeze. But the air was still. As he dutifully brought the ball back to her feet, even Mo looked a little forlorn. She bent down and stroked his fuzzy hair, trying to force a smile.

"Oh dear, oh dear, Maurice…whatever will become of this?"


	5. False Starts

On Tuesday afternoon, the weather turned, and, as the previously blue sky began to fill with menacing grey rain clouds, the air grew chilly. In his study, Joseph turned on his desk lamp, and glanced outside at the rapidly darkening sky. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the weather was apt to change in Genovia…and he loved it. Except when he got caught outside in it, of course. But today he had taken care to return from his afternoon ride before the clouds began to close in. He cast his eyes in the direction of the clock, four-fifteen. She would be here in forty-five minutes. Again, he felt the butterflies unsettle his usually stoic composure.

He hadn't seen her at all yesterday. He had given Carlos the envelope, along with the foreboding pile of work, and had left it at that. After his meeting with the head of security, he had returned to his study, and ordered tea, only to find a small card placed deliberately against the milk jug. She was characteristically to the point,

"Your Majesty,

I entirely agree – I would greatly value your input.

Tomorrow at five, then.

Clarisse."

For the third time in the last hour, Joe re-read the card…"I would greatly value your input"…he could almost hear her saying it…the gentle click as she would unquestionably enunciate the last 't'. He smiled to himself, embarrassed a little at his own thoughts, and then grew serious, wondering how their meeting would go, what he might say. He realised all too painfully that the Clarisse that he had been constructing over the weekend could only be the projection of his own ideal, couldn't she? … but what if she were like this? Oh God, he would be lost forever…

The minutes ticked on, and the rain began to fall, softly at first, and then beating down in sheets. He closed his eyes, savouring the wonderful feeling of being warm inside whilst the heavens beat down their fury outside. After a while, he decided to give up on work, and moved over to slouch in the large leather sofa by the fire, his feet crossed up on the coffee table.

It was five past five.

He glanced at his watch again, and swallowed. Was she not coming? His mind raced, worried how he might have offended her, might have scared her in some way. But he'd been so careful…his request that they meet had been entirely innocent, entirely business…he didn't understand. He was about to get up and enquire after her when there was a soft but deliberate knock on the door.

"Come in." His heart was in his mouth, his back tingling all over…

"I'm so sorry I'm late, your Majesty…I…" She faltered as she felt his eyes sweep over her body. She swallowed involuntarily and instinctively crossed her arms across her chest. He looked up at her face, her hair plastered down, soaked with rain. For a moment he looked shocked, and then his face broke into a soft smile,

"Caught out by the rain?" He stretched out a hand, and beckoned for her to come into the sitting area, by the fire. She smiled nervously, terribly embarrassed by her dishevelled state and most unprofessional lateness.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, I didn't mean to keep you waiting, it's just I couldn't decide whether to go back quickly to my rooms and change or whether to come straight here…neither seemed the right thing, and…" Suddenly she realised she was babbling, and catching his obviously amused eye, began to laugh at herself, shivering a little at the same time. He smiled back, desperately trying to keep his eyes averted from the wet clothes which now hung seductively to the graceful curves of her body.

"I'm pleased you came. I have a meeting at six, and so we wouldn't have had much time. That said, I really don't want you to catch cold…" He held a finger up for a moment, motioning for her to wait, and he picked up the phone,

"Carlos, yes…I know. Could you please have two warm towels sent up, and some…" he looked over at the shivering Clarisse, "some tea, please? Thank you."

Coming back to the couch, Joe slumped down rather ungraciously. Still standing rather awkwardly by the fire, Clarisse rubbed her hands together nervously.

"Come…" He motioned to the space alongside him.

"I'll get the seat wet…I'm fine, really, I just need to warm up a little."

As she turned back to the fire, he smiled. She was nervous, just as much as he was. God she was beautiful.

For the next ten minutes she explained to him the details of her plans for the East Wing of the castle, pacing a little in front of the fire, casting him the odd glance when he fell silent. He listened patiently and was surprised once again by her innovation and clear-thinking. She'd been here all of a few weeks, and already she knew everything…

When the maid arrived with the tea and the towels, they paused for a moment. Joseph stood and, noting that the sky was now dark, moved to draw the curtains. Clarisse set about pouring the tea. As he walked back to the couch, Joseph noticed once again that she was shivering.

"Are you alright, Clarisse?"

She looked up, and he realised that it was the first time he'd used her first name. She smiled, a little nervously, he thought, and he raised an eyebrow slightly, bidding her to continue.

"Yes, your Majesty, just a little damp." He nodded, and smiled back, trying desperately to put her at ease. He reached over to the back of the couch, where the maid had left the two folded towels, and began to unwrap one. Stepping closer, although all the while taking care not to startle her, he shook it out, and, looping his arm over her head, wrapped the warm towel around her. She shivered again, the warmth of the towel caressing her damp skin, and he automatically brought his hand down her shoulders, to rub a little heat into them.

Their eyes met.

That was all it took.

Each started a little, surprised to see their own desire reflected so perfectly back at them.

For a second, the room was silent, and they just looked at each other, both knowing full well what had just happened. The fire crackled as a log fell, and the rain continued to beat against the windows. Words were momentarily abandoned, their inadequacy, their potential to reveal and distort painfully apparent to both. From now on, they had one of two choices: to give in and accept the inevitable consequences, or to walk away and so accept the equally difficult consequences that would bring.

Unconsciously, Clarisse stepped back a pace, and his hands fell back down to his sides. Closing her eyes for a second, she exhaled the breath she didn't realise she had been holding. All the while, Joe couldn't take his eyes from her. Instinctively, she brought her arms to rest, once again, crossed against her chest. Glancing down, she tried to warm herself. The coldness, however, as she would realise later, was not outside anymore. She smiled weakly, and glancing over at the table, still not meeting his eyes, she found her voice,

"Would you like some tea?"

A/N …if poetry be the language of love, reviews are the equivalent of a friendly backrub ;o)


	6. Getting it together

A/N OK, this wasn't meant to happen yet...I have other things I should be working on first...but once I had the idea, I couldn't resist! Thanks for all the lovely reviews so far - keeps me very happy! ;o) Enjoy,

_She could sense him behind her before he spoke, before they touched. Her name on his lips, a whisper almost, he placed a hand gently, cautiously on her shoulder. Pulling her back, making her stay. As his arms drew her closer, his warm breath on her neck made her shudder, and she closed her eyes. She felt him pull her tight against him, his lips descending on the hollow of her throat, her own hand snaking up to caress his face. As his hands came to encircled her waist, his lips began tracing a steady path up to her jawline, to her cheek…still, her eyes were pressed shut. She felt him smile against her skin, and he moaned as she began to turn slowly in his arms, daring to open her eyes,_

"_Clarisse…my darling…"_

"_Joseph…"_

And the spell was broken. Her pulse still racing, and her mouth dry, she sat up with a start, blinking furiously. The warmth that had surrounded her so luxuriously had now dissipated and even though the covers were still snugly wrapped around her she felt desperately cold. In the darkness, she glanced over at the clock…ten past four. With an uncharacteristic groan, she threw herself back on the pillows, so frustrated by her treacherous mind…so, so…ohhh…just so damn frustrated.

It had been two weeks since their little 'situation', and she wasn't coping very well. At these moments, woken once again by her overactive imagination, she was momentarily able to admit that to herself. Of course, by day, she was faring admirably. Work was going well, things were getting done…nothing had, well, nothing had happened…which was as it should be. But at night, alone in her room, her pulse racing and her bed conspicuously cold, she thought about it. And some.

The first time she had been shocked by her own unconscious. Embarrassed by her schoolgirl-like fantasy, unfolding in such gratuitous slow time to put any trashy romance to shame. But it had continued regardless of her self-torture…and every night was the same. Now, though she still couldn't quite admit it, she found herself longing for bedtime, for the escape that it brought.

King Joseph hadn't been any more successful at distancing himself from that fateful evening's events than his confused housekeeper. As per usual, he took it out on the immediate staff around him, working himself, and by implication them, into the ground. He was prickly and even less talkative than usual. Carlos noticed it straight away, and quickly pieced it together. Not that he would tell his Majesty that, of course. He sighed, looking ruefully at the huge pile of dictation he still had to transcribe, thanks to his royal Grumpiness, and shook his head.

Having blustered his way through two weeks of a heady combination of disappointment, confusion, irritation and, most overwhelmingly, sadness, Joe found himself, in his private sitting room, at four in the morning, working his way through the end of a bottle of whisky. He knew he'd had enough, but, frankly, he was beyond caring… He could handle his alcohol well, he was never aggressive, nor did he stumble in the way some fools do. He simply managed to shut himself off, from everything and everyone. It had begun as a quick drink of one of his finest single malts, an attempt to raise his spirits, to toast the end of his pathetic final foray into l'amore, but it had soon flipped into something less cheery. The anger was gone, the irritation….all that remained was the immense weight of loneliness, the raw physical need to hold her, to look after her…he rubbed his eyes again, and poured another glass.

Realising that she was never going to get back to sleep now, Clarisse got out of bed and, slipping her robe on, made up her mind to go to the kitchen and find herself some tea. The corridors were chilly and she sped up a little, taking care not to make too much noise. As she reached the main stairwell, she noticed, down the end of the opposite corridor, a shaft of light spilling from one of the rooms. She sighed, and, muttering under her breath at the terminal amnesia regarding the turning off of lights from which some staff seemed to suffer, she headed off down the corridor to switch off the offending light. Coming closer, though, she realised quickly that not only was the light emanating from His Majesty's suite, but that…quite clearly…someone was still up.

Every ounce of professional training she'd ever had screamed at her to leave. To turn back and go to the kitchen as she had planned. She did not want to know what was happening behind the door…it would not help the situation. She swallowed and, carefully removing her hand from the door knob, took a pace back.

"Oh Clarisse…"

She started, jumping slightly as he called her name. Her eyes darted to the doorframe. He couldn't have seen her…there was no shadow. And she hadn't even moved the door…what…? Anyhow, it had sounded more like a cry than a request that she enter. His voice sounded ragged, lacking some of its usual rich timbre. There was a groan from within the room, and the distinctive sound of expensive crystal being hurled against something hard and smashed into a thousand pieces…

"Oh god, what have I done?…." He rambled on, his face in his hands, as he sat on the edge of the leather couch, the alcohol rapidly wearing off, entirely unaware of the audience behind the door. "I didn't mean to fall so hard…how can I….I don't know…God, I need you so much, and you don't even…" He sighed, unaware, it seemed, that his inner monologue was spilling out into the room. "For the first time…the first in my life…I'd never... When you took my hand…" He stopped, hunching himself over, his elbows on his knees, his face pressed firmly into his palms.

Absorbed by his misery, he didn't feel the couch shift as she came to sit down next to him, didn't see her looking at him, struggling to process the image of a broken king…a broken man, before her. She didn't know at what point she had decided to walk into the room, and she wouldn't even remember later from where she had found the courage to do it. But she had. Mimicking his position, she bent forward, setting her elbows on her knees, her face resting on them, looking over into the fire.

"You were saying…?"

She didn't look at him…she couldn't, not yet. And so she didn't see him jump as he suddenly realised he was no longer alone. For a moment he seriously wondered if he might be hallucinating. Then she spoke again,

"When you took my hand…?"

He still hadn't taken his eyes off her, his hands twisting nervously in his lap. He shifted a little closer, turning to face her, willing her to look at him.

"Clarisse?"

This time his voice was clearer, richer…and she felt the tingle run down her spine. Drawing herself up to sit properly, she finally turned to look at him, still unsure how she should face him, what role she should assume. As their eyes met, she was shocked to see tears staining his face. She blinked, seeing more in one glance than she could ever explain. No masks were necessary anymore. Seeing the naked concern in her eyes, he reached over tentatively and took her hand. She relaxed a little, and looked down as he stroked his fingers over the back of her hand, tracing down to their tips, and then pushing her hand up, so their fingers interlaced. She smiled as he brought their joined hands to his lips and she stretched her free hand to cautiously caress his cheek. Leaning into her, he continued, his voice low and soft,

"When you took my hand, my darling, I realised that I didn't want to let go…and…well, I'd never felt that before. Never."

As she looked into his eyes, she could see only his honesty, and she relaxed, closing her own, trusting him. As he turned to kiss her palm, she replied,

"Neither had I…"

Opening her eyes again, she shivered a little and he instinctively brought his free arm down to rest across her shoulders. She tensed a little, and he unconsciously loosened his hold, but then she looked up at him again, and shifted even closer into his embrace, coming to rest against his chest.

He let out breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and pulled her into him, shifting them both back to lie against the back of the couch. Their hands were still entwined, and Clarisse couldn't draw her eyes from them, his powerful, rough fingers interlaced with her own delicate, manicured ones. Somehow, it was a perfect fit. She looked up at him, and smiled as she realised that he had been watching her.

"I'm sorry…" He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and she sat up a little.

"For that evening…I, I handled things badly…you see…I, I'm not very good at these things…" Her heart skipped a beat as he dropped a deliberate kiss to her forehead. As his hand ran through her hair, and caressed the nape of her neck, he smiled, pulling her close to him once again, so much that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

"You have nothing to apologise for…and, well…as for performance rating, I'd say you're doing just fine, " he grinned, rubbing noses with her, "better than fine, in fact."

She grinned back, raising an eyebrow herself at his turn of phrase, and as his hand gently guided her towards him, she felt more relaxed than she had ever felt. As their lips met, cautious at first, then more daring, he released her hand and wrapped both arms tightly around her. As he delicately kissed around her mouth, teasing her lips, she smiled in spite of herself. He stroked her face, and kissed her cheeks and her eyebrows, and then finally came back to rest against her mouth. Placing a hand on his chest and guiding them back to rest against the couch, she deepened the kiss, never wanting it to stop, knowing that it must. Pulling away slightly, feeling his hand playing idly with her hair, loving the way he dropped another light kiss on her lower lip just as she pulled back, she found her voice,

"So what happens now…?"


	7. Being Good

He smiled cheekily, raising an eyebrow,

"What, _right_ now? He ran a hand down her arm and, reaching her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers. She opened her mouth to speak, but his finger pressed against her lower lip soon stopped her.

"Right _now_ I'm going to ask if I may kiss you again…" She smiled again, savouring the feel of his finger caressing her lips enquiringly. Nodding slightly, she brought her hand up to the nape of his neck. As their lips met again, both were startled by the undeniable sense of familiarity. This was crazy, this was only their second kiss, and yet it all felt so natural….so right. She felt his arms slip around her again, and she practically swooned against him. As they leant back into the couch he felt her hand caressing his chest and groaned into her mouth. When they finally broke apart, Clarisse realised that she was practically in his lap and felt a blush rising to her cheeks. Discreetly, she tried to slide back to the seat, only to feel his strong arms pulling her back,

"Stay…" He dropped a kiss to her neck, and she shivered, surprised to find herself curling up against him.

"And now?"

He chuckled, lightly kissing her nose and shaking his head at her insistence.

Pulling her tightly into his chest, he looped his arm under her knees, and startled her by swooping her up with him as he stood. She laughed, more through nerves than actual enjoyment,

"Put me down!"

"Never" He tightened his grip and lifted her a little higher as if to prove his point.

"Do I dare ask what now?"

He glanced at his watch quickly and, smiling widely, and twisting his neck a little to kiss her delicately on the lips,

"Now, my darling, I take you to bed."

Immediately she tensed, her eyes widening involuntarily. Inside, he smiled, pleased by her reaction. To Clarisse, however, he simply raised a curious eyebrow.

Placing her hand on his chest, she tried to smile and, ever so hesitantly, opened her mouth,

"Uh…I…ummm…."

She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to regain some composure, some distance. Realising suddenly that this was not a situation that she could run from easily. If indeed she wanted to. Again, his lips descended upon hers, feather-light and entirely innocent. In spite of herself, in spite of the protestations streaming from her brain, she relaxed against him, drugged almost by his tenderness.

"It's OK, Clarisse."

She opened her eyes, surprised to see him looking serious, concerned almost,

"It is?"

"I meant your bed."

"You did?"

She let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding and he smiled at the endearing innocence of her reply, how relieved she'd suddenly looked.

"Yes."

Again he lowered his mouth to hers, gently tasting her lower lip, and was thrilled as she placed her hand on the back of his head, pulling him impossibly closer. He teased her face with little kisses, pleased that she was smiling again, pleased he had, at least this time, read her correctly. Nudging the door open with his knee, he started to carry her in the direction of her room.

"Besides…" he murmured, as they moved down the darkened corridor, pressing his cheek against her own, "…I never sleep with a girl on a first-date, even if she is the most amazing woman I've ever met."

She smiled, giggling softly and pulling back a little, finding the truth that she had hoped for reflected in his eyes.

"How about the second one?"

He grinned, "Not unless she ties me down and jumps me…"

Now it was Clarisse's turn to smile, and she tapped his nose with her index finger,

"Well, aren't you just Mr Hopeful?"

Reaching her door, he set her down and, almost automatically, she straightened out his shirt, fussed with his collar. Bringing his hand down to rest on the curve of her shoulder, their eyes met and they shared a conspiratorial smile.

"You never did answer my question."

He sighed, and pulled her in to rest against his chest.

"I know…I, uh…I think that might rather have been my plan…"

She smiled to herself, touched by his honesty. His hand was idly stroking her hair, and it took a serious amount of willpower just to keep her eyes open. It had all happened so fast and she was rather waiting for her brain to catch up with the night's events. She didn't want to think about how this might work, whether this might work…whatever 'this' might be. And so she could hardly blame him for dodging the issue. She buried her head in his chest and sighed as his arms wrapped a little tighter around her.

They had stood like that for a long time, just holding each other, when he finally broke the silence,

"Will you come riding with me tomorrow afternoon?"

A/N - Sorry this was rather short. I'm going to be busy this week with work and so knew I wouldn't get much up after today, so wanted to post this now. Thanks for all of your reviews so far - they really are _the_ best excuse to avoid 'real' work and get on with writing more stories... ;o)


	8. The Morning After The Night Before

Sorry this took so long – have been rather preoccupied. Still, the ball is back up and rolling now ;o) Review and I'll love you forever… hehe

As she woke up the next morning, Clarisse was surprised to find she was lying on top of the counterpane, and that she was still dressed in her robe. For a moment, she was thoroughly confused, and sitting up cautiously she blinked a little, trying to make sense of things. Then it all came flooding back. The sleepless night, the midnight stroll, his tears, her surprise, the kisses…oh yes, the kisses…and him carrying her back. Bunching her knees up against her chest, she couldn't decide if she wanted to squeal with excitement or run to the bathroom to throw up. Most probably both. Glancing at the clock though, and noting the fact that it was nearly seven thirty, she decided to act her age and, picking up the phone by her bed, ordered some tea.

Ten minutes later, after a quick shower and an even quicker rummage through her wardrobe, she was sitting in the parlour cradling the mug of soothing Lady Grey. Her heart was still fluttering, there was simple no other word for it, and her hands were a little shaky. She still couldn't quite believe that it had happened, that she had let it happen…no, that _they_ had let it happen. In the cold morning light, did she feel differently? Not at all. Indeed, if anything, she was more sure than ever. The butterflies in her stomach at even the briefest recollection of the night before was enough to convince her of that. No, it was not second thoughts that were unsettling her. Just reality. For God's sake, she hardly knew the man…but, as her mind nudged into the silent conversation, you know enough. He had shown her something of himself last night. And, as uniquely privileged as she might feel, she couldn't help but worry at the implications.

She had worried before about the dangers of being taken advantage of…of him whisking her away to some tower and having his wicked way with her. Her sinister fears had relied upon a caddish tease, a cold-hearted Casanova, who would abandon her and, worst of all, cost her her dignity. But such a man would surely not carry her to her room and then bid her farewell with a chaste kiss. No, a man such as that might be far more dangerous…

For a moment, she had the most childish urge to run. From him, or to him, she couldn't quite decide. But she was pulled from her thoughts by the clatter of the cook bustling through the room and into the kitchen,

"Penny for them?"

She smiled at the older woman, wondering just how transparent she might be. She was sure that a rosy blush was spreading itself across her cheeks, and surely her eyes would give her away,

"It's nothing…just a dilemma I have to think through."

The cook nodded, and wandered on in the direction of the door. Looking back at the clearly distracted housekeeper, she chanced a comment,

"Don't think too much, Ms Renaldi, that never helped no one…"

Clarisse smiled back, and, as the woman left her to her thoughts, couldn't help but be struck by the uncanny accuracy of her suggestion. Reaching for the teapot, she poured herself another cup. This threatened to be a long morning.

OoOoOoOoOoO

King Joseph woke up with a broad smile plastered across his face. Needing no reminders of the previous night's events, he launched himself out of bed with a vigour he'd not felt in months. Humming to himself, he wandered into the truly majestic bathroom and turned on the shower. As he splashed around under the invigorating spray his mind played back over the previous nights…well, early morning's…events. God, how had she found him? He had been so desperate, so entirely at his wits' end. In all honesty, he had never felt that low before, not even after his wife's death. No, that had been different. Sad, of course, but different. Only now did he realise quite how different. He wondered idly what Clarisse would be doing now. Drinking copious amounts of tea, if he knew anything about her. Their daily meetings had always been punctuated by at least one cup. He smiled, shaking his head to rid his eyes of the excess droplets, and decided that he would send her some flowers. Roses. Pink. And in a vase. That was most definitely what was called for.

OoOoOoOoOoO

She found them on her desk mid-morning, after stepping out for a few moments to check the new purchases of linen. Thank goodness she had been alone. She had just enough time to suppress her girlish smile and take a delicate sniff before two of the maids burst in. Of course, she had immediately guessed the sender of the seemingly anonymous bouquet, but the maids were enthralled in the game. One by one they ticked off the male members of staff, laughing all the time, not unkindly, but paying little attention to Clarisse's obvious discomfort. At one point they had mentioned the king's name, and had burst into peals of laughter, their eyes full of tears, oblivious to the blush rising on their employer's cheeks. Eventually they decided that it must either be one of the security guards, or someone from the cleaning team. After all, who else would have been able to enter this secure wing of the palace?

After they finally left, Clarisse felt drained. The knot of anxiety that had been gently curling in her stomach since the early hours of the morning, was now tightening to epic proportions. She hadn't seen him all day, and yet she was a nervous wreck. Glancing at the clock, and registering that it was nearly twelve, she groaned. There was no way she could face him this afternoon…let alone to go riding with him. God, if they found a measly bunch of flowers…she fingered one of the petals, hmm, they were hardly measly…but never mind, if they found this simple gesture so entertaining, what would be the reaction to an entire afternoon in the grounds? Another wave of nausea hit her, and she steadied herself against the desk. No. She could not go.

Reaching up to brush away the tears that now threatened to fall, she picked up her pen and dashed off a quick note, trying not to agonise over the words, trying not to think at all…

_Joseph,_

_Thank you – but please do not do that again. The maids will figure it out sooner or later. _

_I cannot come riding this afternoon, and for that I am truly sorry. People will talk, and that is something I cannot risk._

_I hope you can understand,_

_Clarisse_

For ten whole minutes she stared at the page before signing her name. It was desperately formal…yes, that was precisely the word, desperately so…but it was her only defence. 'Love'? No, far too familiar, 'Best wishes'…that just sounded like an elderly relative. So she settled with nothing. Folding up the piece of paper, and sealing it carefully, she hoped that he wouldn't notice the tearstains.


	9. Taken for a Ride?

A/N Hope you like this one…as for the horse, I'm sorry..but it **so** had to be done! Review and I'll send you imaginary Easter eggs… ;o)

By the time that Carlos had made it down to the stables, the king was already tightening the girth around his favourite mare. It was something he always insisted on doing himself, having as he did such a strong dislike for people fussing around him, and Carlos wasn't at all surprised to find him entirely alone.

At the sound of his distinctive footsteps, Joe turned to meet his assistant, not hiding very successfully the hint of irritation in his eyes,

"Yes, Carlos, I was just about to leave, is it urgent?"

The younger man bowed his head respectfully and proffered the envelope,

"The new housekeeper requested that I bring this to you right away."

Joe frowned and reached out to take it,

"She's been here over two months now Carlos, hardly fair to call her new…", he turned the envelope over in his hand, recognising at once the familiar script, "…why didn't she come herself?"

"Respectfully, your majesty, she made it clear that she was extremely busy and would be unable to leave her office. She seemed quite adamant that the message was urgent."

Joe quickly opened the envelope and, his eyes scanning the brief lines, sighed involuntarily, cursing himself inwardly at his stupidity. Perhaps with a little too much haste, he folded the note up and slipped it in his jacket pocket.

"It is…it was…"

Deciding this was probably not the best moment to give in to his almost overwhelming curiosity, Carlos bowed again,

"If there will be nothing else?"

"No, that will be all…thank you for coming."

But his words were painfully half-hearted and Carlos couldn't help but read between the lines. So…the old dog wasn't quite as slick as he thought… Still, shouldn't laugh…indeed, from what he'd seen of the new housekeeper, they'd probably make a good match…

Once Carlos was well out of earshot, Joe let out a long groan and, placing his arm around the mare's withers, nestled rather un-regally into her warm mane.

"Oh Amelia…why did I send the bloody flowers? Why did I not see that she would be so insecure?"

The horse dipped her nose a little and turned to bump him affectionately. He smiled, in spite of the situation and, giving her a firm pat on the shoulder, pulled himself together.

"Still…I suppose there's no point crying over spilt milk…question is, my beauty, how are we going to convince her that I'm worth it?"

OoOoOoOoOoO

From the window of her office, Clarisse could see him riding round the estate on that beautiful white horse. Thankfully, she had recomposed herself somewhat since writing that damn note and had even managed to hold a senior staff meeting. But now she had nothing to do and, in spite of the sensible voice screaming inside her head, she found herself gazing aimlessly out over the lawns. That said, for the past ten minutes it hadn't exactly been aimless.

He had been exercising the horse with impressive precision, walking her up and down, executing tight turns and sophisticated loops. The horse was clearly highly intelligent, but he was guiding her like a pro.

She sighed deeply, and pressed her forehead carefully against the cool glass. Had she been too hasty? As her eyes slid shut she decided that she would probably never know.

OoOoOoOoOoO

From the lawns, Joe had an excellent view of the whole front façade of the palace. Indeed, his eyes could have fallen on any window, as Amelia snorted and kicked the floor impatiently. But, of course, it was on the large bay window, on the second floor that they fell. On the window with the tall, graceful lady, with her forehead pressed against the glass. Dressed in black, always black. For a moment he wondered why, but then decided not to question it…He smiled, and raised a hand to wave. But she didn't see him. Or didn't want to see him.

As the horse tugged a little on her bit, he nudged her to walk on, and again they began their turns. She was an excellent prospect this one, his favourite by far, and, all being well, he hoped to ride her competitively just as soon as her training was complete. But she was getting bored now…as indicated by another loud, and not so very ladylike snort.

"Ok, princess, I know…just give me five more minutes…I've got a plan"

She stilled a little, and he smiled at her apparent ability to read him. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the note…and his cell phone. Reading it once more, out here in the bright sunlight, he was now entirely sure. The slight blotches on the expensive paper were unmistakably tearstains. She had been crying as she wrote it. He swallowed, suddenly feeling quite sick at the thought, at the fact it was his fault, and quickly dialled the number he knew by heart, before he changed his mind.

The figure at the window jumped slightly and he saw her step back over to her desk to pick up the receiver.

Her voice, when she answered, sounded flat and tired,

"Yes, Clarisse Renaldi speaking…"

"Hello Clarisse."

She almost dropped the receiver and quickly placed a hand against the desk to steady herself,

"Your majesty…I thought you were out riding?"

Still she didn't move back to the window.

"I am. Come back over to the window."

Her heart skipped a beat as she realised he must have been watching her the whole time. Without replying, she picked up the heavy cradle and stepped slowly back to the window.

As their eyes met she couldn't help but smile. Then he began to talk,

"I'm so sorry, Clarisse. I wasn't thinking straight this morning…I should never have acted so rashly."

Still she didn't speak, not trusting her voice quite yet. Carefully, she set the cradle down on the table by the window and pressed her hand up against the glass.

"You probably think that I don't understand your hesitation…your fear of what might happen. But I do."

His voice was soft and husky in her ear, just as if he were standing right behind her, and yet he was giving her space. She opened her mouth to speak, still unsure of what she might say, but wanting to show him she was listening,

"I…"

"No, Clarisse…please let me finish. There are things I think you need to hear me say. If you wish for our meetings to remain secret, I understand, but please know that I would most happily make a formal announcement to the whole of Genovia tomorrow, if that were your wish. This is not a casual affair, my dear…far from it."

Tears were now gliding delicately down Clarisse's cheeks, and she could feel her knees growing a little weak. Running her hand down the cool glass she idly wondered just how long it would take her to sprint out through the hallway, down the steps and into his arms.

Amelia whinnied loudly and Joe tugged a little on the reins,

"I'm afraid my horse is getting impatient…but, Clarisse, please think about what I've said. I think I love you…no…I know I do…and I don't want to lose you…not over a bunch of roses."

He hung up then and, tearing his eyes away from the window, neatly turned the horse and cantered her back to the stables. There, he had said it. It was up to her now. His heart was still racing, but his mind was now clear…if she really wasn't comfortable with this, he couldn't push her. He had to have the courage to let her decide.

As he trotted her into the courtyard, he slipped out of the saddle and deftly whipped off Amelia's tack and hosed down her fetlocks and hooves. Clipping on a lead rope, he walked her back to her box, right at the corner of the yard, stopping only for a moment to grab a fresh bundle of hay. Once safely back home, he looped the rope round the wall mount, and checked her water. The slight creak of the gate made him jump a little, and he turned sharply to see who was still around at this late hour.

For a moment, he couldn't quite believe his eyes. There she was, shades propped on her forehead, trouser-suit immaculately pressed…and looking entirely out of place in all this muck.

"Clarisse?"

"Well…they were the most beautiful roses…"


	10. Happy Days

A/N OK, this is pitifully short, but I think it works quite well as a linking chapter. Not sure when the next bit will be up…most probably Thursday/Friday, and, I promise, it will be much loooonger. Review if so inclined ;o)

As she stood there calmly waiting for his reply, it dawned on Joe just how much he was asking, just quite how much he had suggested. And, by her sudden arrival here in the stables, just how much she was risking. Had he really just told a woman he had only met two months ago, that he had kissed for the first time the night before, that he loved her? Was he completely mad? He smiled inwardly…quite probably. Though most definitely madly in love. God, how his wife would have laughed at the change in him. Clarisse shifted casually from one foot to the other, endearingly aware of his scrutiny. Again, he felt warm inside…yes, Elizabeth would most definitely have approved.

When he didn't respond immediately, Clarisse smiled, a little nervously, he thought, and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Stepping forward slightly, she leant against the closed half-door of the box, looking down at the straw, at the water bucket…anything but him. Suddenly, in spite of his earlier declaration, she wondered if she'd not gone too far, coming down here like this. Wondered if perhaps he realised he'd gone too far…

He coughed, clearly his throat of the dusty air,

"Well…yes…I…I had hoped you…"

His voice was husky, and immediately she looked straight at him. Again, he tried to get the words out,

"…hmm….and, well, one of the gardeners had told me the other day how much you…"

He paused again, his eyes now fixed, fixated almost, by hers. He ran a hand quickly over his head, "…oh for Christ's sake, what am I trying to say?" and then in one long stride was at the door himself, just in time to register her look of surprise at his obvious lack of composure.

As his rough hand swept smoothly along her jaw and up to cradle the back of her head, stroking her hair, their lips met in an almost desperate kiss. Gone was the tentative teasing of last night… As Clarisse felt her knees begin to buckle, his strong arm reached around her shoulders and held her to him.

"Oh my darling, I'm so sorry…" his voice was husky and she gently stroked his cheek, her breathing still shaky. "I didn't think…I should have thought."

As he pressed his forehead lightly against hers, she closed her eyes for a moment, drawing strength from his proximity. She knew her eyes were threatening to tear up, but she wanted to hold it together long enough to get this out properly,

"I should have trusted you…"

He pulled back and caressed her cheek with his thumb, carefully wiping away the tears. Her eyes were closed, but she continued speaking,

"I was too quick to doubt your intentions…too quick to see what I was afraid of."

He smiled, and traced his finger across her lips, silencing her. As she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see him staring straight at her.

"I think we both got it wrong, don't you?"

She smiled weakly, and nodded, her eyes sliding shut for a moment as she did so.

"Clarisse, can we try again?"

Opening her eyes, not caring anymore that the remaining tears were gliding down her cheeks, she smiled, more certain this time. Feeling his arms again tighten around her shoulders, she bent forward slightly and kissed his cheek.

"Absolutely, definitely, categorically"

He smiled…hell, if nothing else she'd certainly improve his vocabulary…and teased her nose with his.

"So, my lovely pristine-suited darling, are you coming in here or am I coming out?"

She stepped back a little and surveyed him carefully, unashamedly sizing him up,

"Well, Joseph you, um, do rather smell, now I come to think of it…"

He chuckled, faking an expression of mock-offence, and promptly slid open the door separating them, and wrapped his arms firmly around her waist, pulling her deliciously close.

"Well then, young lady, for your impudence, in it is…"


	11. Going Hungry

As Amelia began to chomp happily away at the plastic bag full of hay, Joseph reluctantly pulled back from Clarisse. Kissing her softly on the lips, almost as an apology, most definitely a promise of more, he slid his arms from where they had been resting securely around her and moved to sort out his horse.

His back turned, Clarisse allowed herself a huge, totally immature grin and, straightening her now mysteriously unbuttoned jacket, moved over to stroke the mare's shoulder.

Joseph was still struggling to unwrap the bale properly, a little concerned as to exactly how much plastic had ended up inside the horse. Eventually he managed it and lifted a few handfuls up to the greedy nose that was having great fun trying to nudge him to the ground.

Looking up, he was a little surprised to find Clarisse so close, and wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, dropping a little kiss to her forehead,

"So you do like horses?"

She smiled, giving him a conspiratorial look,

"I never said I didn't…"

He smiled back, pleased as she relaxed against him, her hand still stroking over the mare's smooth coat,

"So then I might get you out on a horse some day?"

His hand came up to meet hers and, stroking her fingers teasingly, coaxed her attention from the animal back to him. She paused, clearly considering his request seriously, not about to just say what he wanted to hear. But then she smiled and nodded lightly,

"Some day, yes. Just not today…"

As he pulled her against him once more, she brought his hand up to her face and glanced quickly at the watch on his wrist. She sighed, and unconsciously, he pulled her closer.

"I should be going…it's nearly six"

He nodded and, teasing her lips with his own, thought of the next time he might see her, might be able to hold her like this,

"Me too…I have to go and get ready for dinner. Normally I'd just say well, sod it, but… you see, I have this rather demanding housekeeper…she's terribly officious…I'd be in awful trouble if I were to be late."

She laughed loudly and pushed him squarely in the chest,

"I should think so too…"

He smiled and, cupping her cheek in his palm, gently kissed her. It was so simple, so innocent and yet… so entirely intimate. As her eyes slowly opened he tapped her on the nose,

"I really must start to move…make sure I'm ready."

"And I must go and make sure that there's something for you to get ready for."

He smiled weakly, the sad irony suddenly weighing heavily on him,

"It seems somehow ridiculous really…you making me dinner and me having to eat it alone."

She sighed, struck by the uncanny similarity of their thoughts. For a moment she wasn't entirely sure how to best respond.

"I don't actually make the dinner, you know…"

He smiled and, giving her back a soothing rub began to walk her out of the stable box.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

"We shouldn't walk back together, you know, Clarisse…I mean….it…", he stumbled, knowing just how many reasons there were and suddenly realising that none were sufficient to stop him from wanting to walk with her.

She simply nodded and shrugged her shoulders.

"I know…and anyway, who said I was walking?"

As Joseph raised an eyebrow, they wandered round to the back of the stable block.

"Oh my God….is that thing yours?"

While his mouth just hung open, she laughed out an "Of course", and clicked off the security.

"What, did you really think I made it all the way down here from the palace in these heels, all before you had finished with the horse?"

Suddenly he realised her point and shook his head,

"To be entirely honest, my darling, I…well…I wasn't exactly thinking about the logistics when you appeared. Though they are lovely heels"

She smiled, and watched with amusement as his eyes proceeded to glide over the sleek black Jaguar XK8's exterior.

"Would you like a lift back? I could drop you at the front door."

He looked at her longingly and stepping over to give her a final embrace, a final kiss, he shook his head.

"You are a cruel woman, my dear…tempting me with such things when you know I can't."

Kissing him back she whispered seductively in his ear,

"Next time then…"

"Next time."

OoOoOoOoOoO

As she gunned the car down the deserted dirt track to rejoin the main road running through the estate, he shook his head. So it had been that little madam who had sprayed gravel all over his nicely clipped lawn by the fountain. He'd seen the car, of course, all those weeks back and promised himself he'd take a test in one soon, but he hadn't worked out the occupant. Perhaps he should have known all along…after all, it's always the quiet ones.

That woman. She was amazing. Quite simply amazing.

A smooth little operator but…a tender smile crossing his lips… almost dangerously fragile beneath that cool exterior. A paradox, most definitely…a challenge, most certainly. A partner in crime? He hoped so.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Pushing the probably ludicrously expensive slices of duck around his plate one more time, Joseph couldn't help but let a small sigh escape. He'd been staring at it for a good fifteen minutes and still, as hard as he might try, he couldn't muster an appetite. The serving staff had all left now and, with one final groan, he pushed his chair back and gave up. Wandering round the large dining hall, he wondered why it was that he still ate here. Even when it had been the four of them it had seemed huge. Now it was just plain ridiculous.

Not that it was the size of the dining room that was making it difficult to find an appetite. He knew very well what was causing that. Clarisse. He hadn't been hungry for days. First he had been too depressed to want anything, and now he was too elated. Honestly, how much longer could it go on?

He smiled to himself, and, wondered out loud whether it would be harmful if he were never to eat another meal again.

OoOoOoOoOoO

It was with uncustomary relish that Clarisse tucked into her omelette later that evening in the small parlour kitchen. Normally she ate very little…not to keep her weight down, well, no more than any woman, but she just rarely had an appetite for anything that might be called a hearty meal. Tonight, however, she was ravenous.

On her own in the small kitchen, the fire glowing gently in the corner, a glass of soothing red wine in her hand, she began to replay the day's events. She could hardly begin to accept that it had just been a day…not even twenty-four hours since she had kissed him. And yet, in that time, they had managed to break up and decide to try again. Crazy. Absolutely stark raving mad.

But wonderful all the same. Not for a long time, indeed, perhaps never, had she felt so alive. He had brought her out of herself, and…well, he'd understood her. At least he seemed to. She was still turning his declaration of love over in her mind. He couldn't be serious, could he? Was that kind of love possible…a love born practically at first sight? For the first time in her life, she began to wonder.

OoOoOoOoOoO

At eleven, she was still sitting happily in what she liked to think of as 'her' kitchen. All the staff had gone home and, apart from giving the crockery she'd used for her own dinner a quick rinse, all that remained was for her to finish her wine and make her way up to bed. She wasn't entirely sure why she was still here…except for the reason that it was warm and she felt too relaxed to move. Still, she mused, a little drowsy after the day's exertions, there were worse reasons…

As he crept stealthily into the food storeroom, Joseph didn't notice the light on in the parlour. Clarisse however, whose ears were as sharp as anything, started at the unexpected noise in the room next door. Reassured somewhat by the knowledge that there were over 40 security personnel guarding the palace and that, in any case, any potentially armed jewel-thieves would most probably not be making the larder their first stop, she went to investigate.

"Joseph?"

He jumped, and the packet of digestive biscuits in his right hand fell to the floor with a telling crunch.

"What are you doing?"

Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper and, he could hear it now, hardly managing to contain her obvious amusement. Realising now who it was who had caught him, he smiled and turned round, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Busted."

She laughed and, taking his wrists gently in her hands, kissed him delicately on the lips. The prisoner released, he wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders and deepened the kiss. She tasted warm and unmistakably of the finest Chianti. As they finally broke apart, he licked his lips and eyed her suspiciously,

"Have you been drinking my wine?"

She met his gaze, for a moment sheepish, but almost instantly defiant,

"Have you been eating my digestives?"

"Touché, darling."

OoOoOoOoOoO

As he sat down at the table, next to where her empty plate lay, she put the kettle on.

"Why were you pilfering my favourite biscuits, anyway?"

He looked embarrassed for a moment and then, remembering the promise he'd made silently to himself that afternoon, he decided to be honest with her. He would always be honest with her.

"Well…I'm afraid I didn't eat my dinner."

She smirked, and turned back to look at him,

"You naughty boy….why not? Shall I have the chef beaten?"

He laughed at her teasing and then, his face growing a little more serious, continued,

"Thing is…since…well, since, um, 'everything', I seem to have lost my appetite."

The kettle began to whistle and she turned to find some mugs.

"Really?"

He stood and, moving calmly across the kitchen, came to stand behind her. Instantly she was aware of his presence and shivered as his warm hands came down to caress her upper arms. She relaxed against him and felt the warmth of his chest spread across her back. Delicately sweeping her hair behind her ear, he whispered gently,

"Really…I'm quite bewitched, I'm afraid."

She smiled, and as his lips kissed her softly on the cheek, his arms came round to curl around her waist.

"And now?"

He looked quizzically at her,

"Now?"

She brought her own arms down to rest on top of his, holding him firm,

"Are you hungry now?"

As his mouth descended hungrily on her neck, pretending to bite her, she barely managed to stifle a giggle. Eventually, he stopped his torment, and she wriggled out of his grasp and in the direction of the larder, only to return with an armful of ingredients. A grin began to spread across his face once he realised what she was about to do,

"I thought you didn't cook my dinner?"

For that, he was rewarded with a mock-stern glare as she gestured towards the table.

"Just sit and behave yourself."

OoOoOoOoOoO

As he finished the last remnants of the most wonderful ham and cheese omelette he had ever eaten in his entire life, Joseph found himself staring lovingly into her eyes. She had been watching him the whole time, barely taking her eyes off him, even when she reached for her own mug. It was almost as if she was trying to work something out. All of a sudden, she seemed to decide and, realising that she was staring, smiled bashfully and swirled the dregs of her tea in the cup.

He yawned contentedly and, stretching back in his chair, reached for her hand. Her fingers were cool and elegant, and he quickly entangled them with his own. Catching her eye again, he asked if she was tired,

"Yes…I think I am. I have the feeling that I might actually sleep well tonight."

For a moment he looked concerned,

"You don't sleep? I mean…apart from the odd late-night excursions around the palace corridors?"

She smiled and admitted that she rarely slept well. Much to her surprise, however, he admitted as much himself.

"I don't know why…it's not as if I'm not tired."

She stroked his hand reassuringly,

"Maybe tonight you will sleep well too…"

It was her turn to yawn now and, deciding to call it a night, she stood and began to clear the table. Immediately, Joseph stood too,

"Here, let me help…"

She smiled, pleasantly surprised by the gesture.

"No, no…it's fine, I'm just going to dump them in the main kitchen. After all…there's someone paid to do this. For once I'm going to take advantage of the fact!"

He laughed, and watched her carry them through to the main kitchen. Suddenly alone, he sighed and felt the butterflies once again. At least he had eaten, that was something…but, nonetheless, he had the most horrible feeling that once he'd kissed her goodnight, once again he would be filled with that indescribable, almost unbearable and yet, entirely exquisite longing.

OoOoOoOoOoO

Wandering back into the room, Clarisse was immediately struck by the sudden tang to the air. Glancing discreetly at the white board in the corner, on which the daily menus were normally scribbled up, she couldn't help but note that the whole board had been scrubbed clean, and a long number written up hastily in its place. Deciding not to ask, though not entirely sure why, it must be said, she asked Joseph if he was going to bed soon.

He nodded his reply and as she walked slowly over to where he was sitting, stretched out his arms and grasped her around the waist. For a moment, his head came to rest on her stomach, and she ran a hand delicately over his scalp, stroking through the hair at the nape of his neck. Pulling her gently down to sit on his lap, he stroked his fingers through her hair, amazed at how light she was. As she moved her face closer, her lips trailed a line of kisses to his ear,

"Goodnight, then, Joseph"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her nose, making her smile. As his lips began to caress hers, he felt her hands return to the base of his neck, pulling him closer. Tracing the curve of her lips, he couldn't help but softly moan as she shifted a little on his lap. As they gradually broke apart, each was a little breathless, a little flushed.

"Goodnight, my darling."

OoOoOoOoOoO

After he had finally gone, after several more 'last' kisses, she hastily scribbled down the number on the board and then wiped it off. Still, she wasn't entirely certain that it had been Joseph who had written it, but then again, she was almost sure that there hadn't been that strong smell of meths before.

After she curled up in bed, a good half hour later, the note still sitting staring at her from the table, her curiosity won out. She was almost certain it was a phone number, although it seemed to have fewer digits than normal. Picking up the telephone by her bed she carefully dialled it, and waited…

The click and the dialling tone did little to calm her…It rang for a few beats and then, the husky voice on the other end interrupted her thoughts,

"You have reached King Joseph's personal hotline…for a) birthday greetings press 1; for b) royal pardons press 2; or c) for goodnight…" as she burst out laughing he couldn't keep it up, and gave in to the giggles himself. As he recomposed himself somewhat, he tried again,

"So, Ms Curious, you found my number."

"Indeed, it would appear that I did…"

"You don't mind, do you? I just wanted to hear your voice again before I went to bed…"

She smiled, and cradled the headset against her chin, lying back contentedly against the pillows,

"Not at all…I missed you too."

"You did."

She sighed, and he felt her need as strong as his own, "I did"

"Clarisse, this is my personal cell number…I'm the only one who ever answers this, no one ever taps it…what I mean to say is, well, you can call me whenever."

"Something tells me that I might need to get myself a new cell phone…"

He smiled to himself, already thinking about how he would ask Carlos in the morning without arousing suspicion,

"I think that could be arranged, my love."

She yawned and he suggested she go to bed.

"But I'm already in bed…"

He groaned and she laughed softly,

"I'm sorry, that was cruel… But you're quite right, I am tired. Will I see you tomorrow?"

He flicked through the agenda on his desk, noting with disapproval the amount scheduled for the following day,

"Maybe…well, yes, of course, though I'm not sure when. I'll sort something."

She yawned again, louder this time,

"In the meantime, sleep well, darling. I love you."

She smiled, and wished him sweet dreams.

As she laid the handset back into the cradle she stared distractedly at it for a long while. As she reached over to click her bedside lamp off, the faintest whisper floated out across the room,

"And, God help me, Joseph, but I think I love you too…"

OoOoOoOoOoO

In spite of Clarisse's hopes, Joseph couldn't get to sleep. There were simply too many thoughts running through his mind and, he thought ruefully, eating so late hadn't really helped. Deciding to get out of bed and take a wander, as he was apt to do when he couldn't sleep, he pulled on his robe and padded softly out of his suite. As usual, the corridors were empty, the only guards were stationed in the security posts. He didn't go in for all that new fangled technology and so cameras were only deployed along the ground floor and on the outside of the palace. Yes, there were cameras that could potentially map the whole building, but only on state occasions or for balls were they turned on.

Without consciously going that way, he found himself outside her door. The light was out, he was pleased to note and he assumed she must be sleeping. Good. He didn't like the thought of her suffering in the way he did. As he turned back towards his own room, however, something stopped him. It was as if something stronger than him were drawing him back to the door. Before he knew it, he had placed his hand on the knob and, to his surprise, it had swung slowly and silently open.

The moonlight was streaming in from the huge bay window. Like him, she obviously disliked drawing the curtains. She was lying peacefully on her side, one arm resting under her head, the other slipped endearingly under the pillow. As she slept on oblivious, he wondered if he had ever seen anything so beautiful before. Her face was without makeup and her hair roughly brushed back, and yet she was almost magically lovely. His breath caught in his throat, and he wondered if he might stand like this forever.

Of course, he knew that he could not and, dropping the lightest of kisses to her hair, and whispering goodnight, he stepped back and, almost as soon as he had come, he had gone.


	12. Relationships for Beginners

Nearly a week had passed, Clarisse thought to herself, as she sat in her parlour drinking her third cup of tea that morning. Nearly a week. Six days, seven hours and, hmm, about 39 minutes. She shook her head, sighing a little to herself at her own silliness. But it felt good. This last week had been, and she said this with no small consideration, the best of her life. After their little 'break-up' Joseph had been a model of propriety. He had given her space when she wanted it, and yet had been there when she needed him. And yes, she was beginning to 'need' him…in a way that she had never needed anyone before. And he would just come. Honestly, for a reigning monarch, she was amazed by the man's ability to suddenly appear at the strangest times.

Not that he didn't work hard though. Each evening, as they met in the small side kitchen, and ate together, she understood that he had spent the best part of the day buried in paperwork. She also suspected, from the bags under his eyes, that he was working late into the night. He had told her that he seldom slept well and that he had learnt to cope long ago, but it didn't stop her being concerned.

She, on the other hand, had begun to sleep much better. At least, she would find it easier to fall asleep. Only…it was strange…sometimes she would wake, at around 2 or even 3 and feel suddenly alone. She couldn't explain it, why it crept up on her like that at night, when she was fast asleep, but it did. And after she had woken, she often found it terribly difficult to drift off again.

Still, sleep notwithstanding, it was perfect. They had continued to see each other in the evenings, once she had even snuck into his private library. Curled up in his leather armchair, a mug of tea cradled in her hands, she had waited nearly half an hour for him to wander in and find her. His smile, though, had made it all worthwhile. He had set her cup down carefully and quite literally lifted her into his arms. Kissing her nose, he had turned and sat himself down in his armchair, and she had snuggled into his lap.

They had talked for a long time that evening, about everything and nothing. About his wife, his children, about her previous jobs. He had explained the difference between Genovian apple pie and the English variety she was so fond of; she had explained why Puccini was preferable to Wagner. As the clock had struck midnight, he had joked that it was time Cinderella went back to bed, and she had laughed so loudly she feared the guards might have heard. He simply smiled at her concern and explained delicately that he had, for some strange, and highly irrational reason, instructed his Head of Security to not post men outside his suite any more.

And so it had continued… Swirling the dregs of her tea in the mug, Clarisse glanced up at the antique clock on the mantelpiece. Eleven-thirty, just enough time to answer some correspondence before checking that lunch was arranged.

OoOoOoOoOoOo

That evening, they met as usual in the kitchen. To her surprise, Joseph was already there, and, even more shocking, was attempting to fasten the ties of her apron behind his back. Trying not to giggle, she wandered quietly up behind him and, gently taking the cords from his startled hands, proceeded to loop them into a loose bow. As he turned, she could hardly keep the look of absolute bemusement from her face.

"What are you doing, Joseph?"

He smiled sheepishly, tapping her cheek gently with his index finger,

"Well, I _was_ planning on surprising you with dinner."

She raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on his shoulder, stepping just a little closer,

"But I've already eaten…"

He looked disapprovingly at her and shook his head,

"No, my dear, you ate an apple and had a large cup of tea, that is most definitely not dinner."

She smiled, relaxing as his hand stroked up her chin and into her hair, his lips descending lightly on her cheek,

"I suppose you are right…though I'm not going to ask how you knew."

He smirked, teasing her lips, his free arm wrapping around her casually,

"Probably best not to…"

OoOoOoOoOoOo

After they had finished dinner – a really rather fine risotto, she had to admit - they crept into the ballroom. It was well after eleven and the only staff left in the palace were the security team…who, if Joseph only knew, were seriously engrossed in an ongoing and rather contentious game of Monopoly. As the King helped his housekeeper remove the protective cover from the baby grand, no one in the palace had any idea, or, indeed, any concern as to where he might be.

Settling herself down at the stool, she asked him what he would like to hear. For the past three nights, she had played for him, each night a little longer. As he sat down next to her, his arm gentle coming to rest about her waist, she decided on something he didn't know, something modern, and began to play.

Watching her fingers float gracefully over the keys, her body relaxing into his, Joseph decided that he must be somewhere close to heaven. His eyes slid shut, and he felt himself floating. Suspended almost by the trickling notes, intoxicated by her presence. As the triplets in the right hand caressed his ear, her breath warm on his neck as she leant across, he wondered idly whether they might stay like this forever.

As the piece reached its climax, he opened his eyes and watched her concentration. It was a difficult passage, and yet her face was relaxed, not at all tense. It thrilled him…her control, her pleasure in the difficulty, the expression of complete contentment on her face, not betraying a trace of the complicated patterns. For a moment there was a pause, and she smiled at him, aware of his eyes fixed on her face. As she continued he moved closer and kissed her neck tenderly.

OoOoOoOoOoO

After an hour or so, his arm still holding her to him, he suggested they might call it a night.

"Are you sure? I mean…I know you don't sleep…I don't mind."

He smiled, carefully closing the piano lid whilst he dropped a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm sure. And anyway, your fingers must be tired, my love."

She held them out and flexed them, shaking her head innocently,

"I think they'll survive."

Reaching down he took her hands in his and stroked them gently.

"Such beautiful hands…" He paused, looking up at her, suddenly a little concerned, "Clarisse…you do know that I'm going to Paris tomorrow afternoon, don't you?"

She smiled, instantly dispelling his worry, and brought his hands to her lips,

"Of course. You told me several weeks ago."

Scrutinising her face, he couldn't tell if she were disappointed, annoyed or simply resigned…such a face, surely she could hide anything, if she so wanted.

"I'm sorry…I wish I could stay here."

"How long will you be gone, Joseph?"

He sighed, shifting a little closer on the seat, pulling her into his arms once more,

"I'm not entirely sure…definitely four days, maybe up to six. I have to meet with the French and Spanish Prime Ministers and, all being well, I anticipate meetings with some of their diplomatic staff. Are you upset?"

She shook her head, snuggling in a little deeper, smiling as his hand played with her hair,

"No, just a little sad…it's a pity that I'm not your bodyguard, or something like that. Then I might come…"

He chuckled, unable to shake the vivid image that sprung to mind,

"Well, yes, my love…though, whilst the thought of you in black leather with a handgun secreted about your person isn't exactly unappealing, I'd much rather know you were safe here instead of taking bullets for me."

She giggled, trying not to think about the implied danger in his words,

"Well, I do already have the shades and the car…"

He shook his head and gave her an exasperated look.

A few moments passed before she spoke again, and her words cut deeply into the silence,

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

A/N OK, evil cliffie, I know…but we all know what he's going to say, don't we? Maybe. Anyway, the next update will be a quick one, I promise. Please review if you have a moment.

Also, if you're at all interested, the music I had in mind for Clarisse to play was Ludovico Einaudi's I Giorni. It's extremely beautiful if you've not heard it…


	13. Sweet Dreams

For a moment he hesitated, and, as her eyes met his, he saw the brief flash of disappointment. Reaching for her hand and bringing it slowly to his lips, he kissed it delicately, lingering on her warm skin.

"Clarisse…are you sure that's a good idea?"

She looked down, unwilling to hold his gaze any longer, and he felt her fingers begin to pull away. Grasping her tightly, his arm snaking around her waist, unwilling to let her leave his embrace, he tilted her face up to his.

"I'm not saying no, my darling…just asking whether it is a good idea…whether now is the right moment…"

She looked at him now, her eyes still sceptical, her earlier teasing confidence gone…but at least she was looking at him. Her voice was weak, suddenly uncertain of itself,

"Of course…I'm sorry. I should have thought…you are quite right…someone might see…it wouldn't be…"

She paused as his finger came to lie gently on her lips, shivering involuntarily at the intimacy of the gesture,

"That's not what I meant, Clarisse. I…"

He smiled, tracing her bottom lip, deep in concentration,

"…what I meant to ask was…well, are you ready?"

As her eyes met his, he was surprised to see the momentary confusion slide into comprehension, feeling uniquely privileged to see, for a moment, her shifting thoughts. Kissing his finger lightly, she shifted a little closer into his arms and smiled. Slipping her hand to the back of his neck, she kissed him, chaste but intense all the same. And he understood. Pulling her closer, deepening the kiss, he felt his heart begin to swell with anticipation.

As they broke apart, their breathing a little shaky, they shared another smile, and Clarisse nodded slowly,

"It struck me this morning that maybe I never would be…"

He raised an eyebrow, wondering if she realised how true her words rang in his own mind,

"…but then I wondered if I really wanted to be. I…I don't think I'll ever be ready…but…"

She faltered, wondering if it were making any sense, searching his eyes a little, smiling as she found in them the strength to continue,

"But all I know is that I want you…I…I need you."

As the tear slid gracefully down her cheek, he felt as if the world had, just for a moment, stopped spinning. Pulling her close again he stroked her hair, and whispered softly,

"And I need you, my love…so very much."

OoOoOoOoOoO

He had left her to go to her room and change, and all of a sudden Joseph found himself sitting awkward and nervous at the foot of his bed. He wondered if he had done right to leave her…he certainly hadn't wanted to. He looked at the clock and noted the time. Nearly one. Standing quickly, he tied the silk robe loosely around his waist and left his room.

OoOoOoOoOoO

As Clarisse changed into her nightgown she suddenly realised that she hadn't slept with a man for over ten years. For a moment she couldn't decide whether it bothered her. Before now it had seemed of little importance. There simply hadn't been anyone, and so what was the point…but now, now it seemed such a very long time. She wondered if it would be obvious to him, whether it would change it somehow. As she prepared to gather herself together, nerves and all, to wander the short distance to his suite, she tried to remain calm. After all, there would have to be a first time if there were to be a second…

OoOoOoOoOoO

He met her at her door, startling her with his unexpected presence.

"Joseph? What…I thought I would come to your room?"

He shook his head, stepping in quickly and closing the door behind him, caught her hand in his.

"No…I, I don't think I could bear it if I had to ask you to leave in the morning…this is better."

She smiled, touched by his confession, wondering for a moment how she would feel as he left her, promising herself there and then that she would not cry, not in front of him. Rousing herself from her morbid thoughts, though, she pulled him to her, wrapping his arm around her waist, lowering her voice to a husky whisper,

"Well, your Highness, won't you come in then?"

He smirked, pulling her close, tracing his hands seductively under her robe and down her silk nightdress, and whispered teasingly in her ear,

"But I'm already here, Clarisse…"

She giggled as his warm breath ticked her ear, as he kissed its lobe, and began to work his way down her jaw line.

"You know, I haven't done this for a while, Joseph…"

He kissed her lips, barely touching them, causing her to shiver against him,

"I know…it's been at least thirty minutes since I last kissed you…"

She smiled, and he took the opportunity to caress her tongue, smiling to himself as her hands came to rest on the small of his back, tracing little patterns on the exposed skin,

"That's not exactly what I meant…"

Slipping her robe off her shoulders, and tenderly lowering his mouth to the hollow of her neck, he felt her sigh, and shifted a little to support her weight. Against the divine softness of her skin he murmured teasingly,

"I know what you meant…I love you my darling…just relax, and hold still…I promise this won't hurt a bit..."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

As she lay, contented and secure in his arms, several hours later, Clarisse could hardly keep her eyes from closing. Turning carefully, though, lifting herself off his chest, and down onto the soft pillow, she smiled at the peaceful expression as he slept beside her. His face was relaxed, and a smile seemed to play on his lips. Somehow sensing her absence, though, he seemed to stir, and reached out for her. As she kissed his bare chest tenderly, he turned, and wrapped a strong arm around her, his face coming to lie millimetres from her own. Gently kissing his sleeping face, she snuggled in even closer. As she drifted off, her last thought was one of complete and overwhelming happiness.

That night they both slept well.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

As she woke the next morning, Clarisse was both surprised and incredibly touched to find Joseph still holding her, his nose almost next to hers. The sun was streaming through the windows, and she was left with little doubt that it must be at least six thirty…time to get up. Kissing his nose carefully, she was amused as his eyes screwed up and then opened, blinking at the light, taking in her face. He smiled, and then closed his eyes almost immediately, pulling her up to lie on his chest. As she ran her nails casually over his skin, he groaned and she giggled, to be rewarded with a tight squeeze and a playful kiss on the shoulder.

"Damn woman, taunting me at this godforsaken hour of the morning…"

She grinned and, untangling herself from his grasp, propped herself up on an elbow. Gradually opening his eyes again, he was struck by her beauty…she looked so relaxed, so rested. Reaching up to stroke her face, he smiled as her eyes flickered shut at the gesture.

"What time is it, my love?"

She kissed his hand, and slowly opened her eyes, glancing at the clock,

"Oh shit…nearly seven…"

He smiled at her uncharacteristic expletive…and she raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

He smiled again, shrugging his shoulders,

"Nothing…"

She shook her head, amused by his shock, and pulled back the covers with a flamboyant gesture. He sat up then, and after a final, toe-curling kiss, one which ever-so-nearly persuaded them both to ditch reality and snuggle back under the covers, he got out of bed.

It was still early, and both were confident that the coast would be more than clear for Joseph to return to his suite unnoticed. Rising from the bed herself, Clarisse helped him on with his robe, smoothing down the soft fabric, caressing his shoulders. Her fingers were unwilling to lose him from their touch quite so soon. As he turned to the door, she caught his hand in hers, suddenly painfully aware of the fact that it might be a whole week until she saw him again.

"Joseph…I…"

She paused, lost for the right words…the words that might convey even a fraction of all the things she was feeling.

He turned back and, taking her other hand in his, entangled their fingers. Almost in slow motion, he bent a little and brought his lips down to hers. For a moment neither moved, content in the simple, intimate contact. She sighed, and he brought a hand to the back of her head, caressing her hair. As they moved desperately closer, Clarisse realised that words could not describe that which her kiss could say…and so willingly gave up.

As they parted, he kissed her forehead, and told her to take care. She smiled cheekily, and told him to behave…to not do anything she wouldn't.

"Well, that should leave a few things to amuse me then, shouldn't it?"

She shook her head, faking disapproval, and told him to take care himself…that she would see him soon…and that they would speak tonight.

Again he kissed her, desperately it seemed, holding her tightly against him, his desire enflaming her once again…and then he was gone.

Closing, and locking the door behind her, Clarisse moved back to the bed. Throwing herself down into the covers, she was struck how the cotton was still warm…still smelt of him. As she curled up, her face pressed into 'his' pillow, she couldn't stop the tears as they streamed down her face…from happiness or loss, she couldn't say. Probably both. But the tears kept falling all the same.


	14. Paris by Night

As he wandered down the steps to the car, Joseph was perversely pleased that she hadn't come down to see him off. It would have been difficult, inappropriate almost, both of them pretending to be civil, distant…and, to be entirely honest, he was worried whether he could bear it. He smiled to himself, remembering a few days earlier when they had been 'caught' in his study by Carlos. It hadn't been late, and, as the door swung open, she had composed herself with almost frightening rapidity, rising from his lap to lean over the desk and appear absorbed in the scattered papers in front of him. She really was quite an actress. No, in that respect, he didn't have a patch on her. That said, this morning she had seemed to be slipping. He couldn't help but see the tears in her eyes as she had playfully shoved him from the room. This time, though, he had chosen not to see…it was clear that she didn't want him to. Maybe next time.

Relaxing back into the expensive leather seats, as the car pulled away, the buzzing of his cell phone broke him from his reverie. Flipping it open, and pressing the cool handset to his cheek, he couldn't help but smile,

"Darling…"

She giggled, her voice a little husky,

"How did you know it was me, Joseph? Or do you address all your staff like that?"

Licking his lips, he pondered his response,

"Well…Carlos has always seemed to appreciate it…"

"I'm sure he does."

OoOoOoOoOoO

Arriving at the Genovian Embassy in Paris just after five, Joseph was exhausted. He had, after all, rather exerted himself the night before. As much as he would have liked to take supper in his room and crawl into bed nice and early, though, it simply wasn't possible. The first scheduled meeting was at six, with the French PM and, he was pleased to find, it went without any hitches. All the difficult policy issues that he and parliament had spent the past month working on were acceptable and negotiations generally went in Genovia's favour.

As the meeting came to a close though, he was surprised to receive an urgent message. Bidding the Prime Minister farewell, he quickly opened the note, and was rather taken aback to see that it was from the Italian ambassador in Paris, Gianluca Ferrario. He had met the man several years ago, back in Genovia and, whilst their evening had been a pleasant one, he struggled to fathom why the man suddenly wished to see him. He only hoped the Italians were not in some way ready to object to the recent trade treaties with France and Spain.

Handing the note back to Carlos, who had, as always, accompanied him on the trip, he asked him to telephone the Italian embassy and fix an appointment, preferably somewhere neutral, preferably somewhere with good food. That done, he retired to his suite, where he managed a quick shower before the Spanish diplomats arrived for dinner.

And so the next few days passed, meeting punctuated by meeting, with the occasional 'sanity break' in which he snuck away to call Clarisse. He was exhausted, and she was well aware of the fact, often cutting their nightly conversations short in a bid to make him go to sleep. Little did she know that, without her at his side, sleep was hard to come by.

By Thursday, he was thoroughly ready to return home and, with only two more meetings left, he was beginning to look forward to the trip. Only one more official engagement, a debriefing with the French foreign secretary and then one more unofficial, that dinner with the Italian.

By five thirty, the first was over and, having changed into something less formal, he found himself once again, in the official car, making his way into town. Paris by night had always struck him as particularly beautiful. As the evening light grew dim, the city came to life. As the car raced along the crowded streets, for a moment he wished he might stop and take a stroll. But that, of course, would be impossible. Eventually the car swung into the driveway of the Hotel Le Faubourg, just of the Champs-Elysées. The minister, it would appear, was choosing not to stay in the Embassy on this particular visit.

Wandering into the bar, his security personnel merging seamlessly with the evening guests, Joseph located Sig. Ferrario almost immediately,

"Ah, Gianluca, come stai?"

The Italian smiled, pleased to be recognised, pleased at the charm,

"Molto bene, your Majesty, and, if I may enquire, how is your Highness?"

Pleasantries were exchanged, the idle compliments of generations tiding them over until dinner was served. The meal was of a high standard and went a long way to lightening Joseph's mood. That and the knowledge that by this time tomorrow he would surely have seen Clarisse.

"And so, your Majesty, it would be a great honour if you would attend the ceremony, not only for my own country, but also for Genovia"

Joseph smiled, amused more by the man's gall and slick tongue, than by the suggestion itself. That said, he nodded politely and promised to attend the stupid fruit trade fair in Milan. Honestly, there was more to Genovia than pears…

The dinner ended, as was customary, with whisky and cigars. Sitting in a comfortable chair in the lobby, Joseph was tickled to notice that the Italian minister could not handle his drink. Not at all. They had only managed a bottle of wine between them, and he couldn't have had more than a shot of the whisky, but already his cheeks were ruddy, and, he noted with amusement, his words were becoming a little slurred.

After about ten minutes his wife, or, at least, the good-looking young lady he presumed to be his wife, sauntered down the main stairwell and deposited herself in Gianluca's lap. Initially he looked shocked, but then smiled broadly and leered quite openly at her low-cut top. Joseph merely smiled politely. He was well used to other people embarrassing themselves in front of him and, after years of experience, it was always better just to turn a blind eye.

As the woman, whose name, it would appear, was Kara, began to sample her 'husband's' drink, there seemed to be some kind of commotion in the main foyer. Turning instinctively, Joseph noticed what looked suspiciously like press trying to push their way into the building. Eyeing his security personnel, he nodded discreetly, and turned to make his apologies to Gianluca. As amusing as this evening might surely have become, he really didn't relish an unnecessary wrestle with the paparazzi, if he could possibly avoid it.

As he stood, though, the young woman also attempted to get to her feet. Whether it was the five-inch heels, or the large quantity of alcohol he could unmistakably smell on her breath that made her fall, he would never know, but, quickly lunging to catch her, Joseph suddenly found the strange woman in his arms. She was heavier than she looked and, as his knee twinged at the awkward angle, he felt himself falling, with 'Kara' coming to land on his chest.

The moment he fell, he knew they would be upon him in an instant and, as he opened his eyes he was not surprised to be met with the cruel flash of the bulbs. Sighing, he stood himself up, trying to laugh it off, and carefully depositing the clearly drunk woman back into a seat, grinned broadly at the cameras.

"Come on boys, there's nothing to see here…she just couldn't resist me."

There were several laughs from the crowd, and, feeling the firm hand of his bodyguard on his shoulder, Joseph was steered out of the lobby and into the car.

"I'm sorry, sir, that shouldn't have happened…we should have removed them sooner."

Joseph just shrugged and patting the big man on the back reassuringly, shook his head,

"No, Mark, you did the right thing…after all, the only weapons those guys have are their zoom lenses."

Sliding into the car, he chuckled again at the ridiculousness of the situation, and slipped out his cell phone. Noting the late hour, he wrote her a quick message and sat back to wait for the response. He didn't have to wait long. Within a few seconds, his phone buzzed, and he flipped open the case and brought it to his ear.

"Yes, darling, I am, but it is rather late…what have you been doing?"

Her voice was rich and warm and it soothed his frayed nerves immediately. For a moment he wondered whether he should go through the whole evening, tell her about the lecherous minister, how he'd won the drinking game hands down, but then changed his mind…he'd amuse her with that little tale when he got back.

"Nothing important…just meetings, dinner and then watching diplomats drink too much. I would have preferred to be with you, darling."

He could hear her smile on the other end of the line, and he wished, not for the first time that day, that he were by his side.

"I stole one of the horses today and rode down to the sea…you really should get some better security, you know, there was no-one around to stop me."

He laughed, pleased that she was enjoying herself, just a little curious as to what had prompted her sudden interest.

"Which horse did you take?"

She paused, clearly wondering how to answer, and he chuckled softly,

"It's ok, I don't mind…she's wonderful, isn't she?"

Clarisse smiled, pleased that he wasn't angry that she'd borrowed Amelia for the afternoon.

"I love her, she's so beautiful…and such a well-tempered horse. And she loved getting her feet wet."

For a moment, the horseman in him kicked in, and he was a little concerned for his mare, but he needn't have worried,

"And don't worry, I remembered to hose down her legs afterwards and checked for sand…"

He lay back against the cool leather seats, and the car swung round another corner,

"You really are wonderful, aren't you…"

"Something like that."

As the lights of the Embassy came into view, he knew it was time to hang up,

"Darling, I have to go now…sleep well?"

"Not as well as I could…but I will try."

He smiled, understanding entirely her sentiment,

"I love you, darling."

There was a pause, and he was just about to click the phone off, when she replied, her voice distinctly shaky, not uncertain, just nervous,

"I…I love you too."

And then she was gone. For a second he considered calling her back, but then changed his mind. Slipping the phone into his pocket, Joseph was surprised to find his eyes a little teary. She had said it…and in saying it she was beginning to show him something of herself she couldn't control. Finally, she was beginning to trust him.


	15. Trust

As she wandered down to breakfast the next morning, Clarisse couldn't help but feel a little excited at the prospect of seeing Joseph. The past week had been fine, she had kept things ticking along nicely, but she had missed him terribly. Probably even more than she had expected she would.

He would be back around eleven-thirty in the evening, and, although she realised that he would most probably want to go to bed straight away, she rather hoped he would drop by her room, at least to say goodnight.

Still, there were over fourteen hours until then…

Opening the door to the side kitchen, she was surprised to see three of the serving maids bent over the heavy oak table giggling almost uncontrollably. At the sound of her entrance, they immediately looked up and tried to still their laughter. Martha, the most senior, began to judiciously fold the newspaper that had obviously been the source of so much amusement.

"Good morning, Ms Renaldi"

Clarisse smiled politely, and raised an eyebrow at the paper.

"Anything interesting?"

Martha smiled, wondering if the ever so proper housekeeper might appreciate the humour, not sure whether it might be construed as overstepping the mark of loyalty to their employer.

"Well?"

She smiled again and remembering how Ms Renaldi had seemed to soften a bit in the last few weeks, thought she would chance it. Unfurling the newspaper, she laid it out for Clarisse to see.

The photograph of the King was a reasonably clear one, in spite of the dim lights in the hotel lobby. His broad, cheeky grin was unmistakable, as was the drunkenness of his young, stunningly good-looking companion…

OoOoOoOoO

"I couldn't resist her!"

Again Joseph re-read the headline which screamed out from the front page of the various tabloids Carlos had thoughtfully arranged on his breakfast tray. Shaking his head, unsure whether he was more annoyed, upset or amused by the ridiculous misquotation, he called his aide into the embassy study.

As Carlos entered, Joseph was interested to note that the boy could hardly keep the smile from his lips.

"Your Majesty?"

"Hmm…Carlos, what do you think I should make of this?"

His words were carefully chosen, not wanting to overact, but curious all the same of his aide's interpretation of events.

"You want my opinion?"

"Yes…I want your evaluation, and suggestions of how I should respond."

Carlos hesitated, surprised a little at his employer's forwardness, and then, clearly his throat nervously, explained,

"I, umm…I think it is unfortunate for your Majesty's public image, but nothing significant. We can easily sue the offending three newspapers for their misquotation and insinuation, which will swiftly dispel any damage to your Majesty's person."

He paused, confused by the contented smile that greeted him. Had the old man really not thought of it? Boy, was he going to be in for it…she didn't seem the type to grin and bear it. Regular ball-breaker, that one. He grinned involuntarily, and the King raised an eyebrow.

"Was there anything else, Carlos?"

Again, he hesitated, but his mischievous streak got the better of him,

"I was just wondering how that ever so proper new housekeeper might react…hardly the kind of behaviour she'd be used to seeing in her employers at Balmoral, or wherever it was she's from…"

Automatically, Joseph corrected him,

"It's Windsor, Balmoral is in Scotland…"

And then he registered his point.

Suddenly feeling rather sick, he dismissed Carlos as quickly as he could without raising suspicion. Finally alone, he took another look at the picture. He tried to imagine what might be going through her mind…would she have seen it? That was without doubt. He hoped she had been alone. He was reasonably confident that she would understand, once he got the opportunity to explain. His eyes flicked back to the image, his inane grin leering out at him…and felt his heart sink.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the cell phone. After staring at it for what seemed like minutes, he pressed the speed dial. He waited and listened as the phone clicked and the dialling tone rang in his ear. For five minutes he let it ring.

Throwing the offending article across the room in a flash of frustration, Joseph couldn't have felt worse. His mind raced with her voice, the terrible situations she might be imagining, the pain she must be feeling, thinking he'd said those words. For a moment he considered calling the palace and asking to speak with her…she couldn't refuse to take his call then…but changed his mind. He could have to be patient, to try and speak to her tonight.

God, how the hell was he going to make it through the next twelve hours until then…?

OoOoOoOoO

Sitting behind the wheel of her car, burning it round the corners of the abandoned airstrip, Clarisse felt immeasurably better. The newspaper lay accusingly on the passenger seat, but she was managing not to look at it. Taking another turn - probably too fast, but who was looking? - it slid to the floor. She pretended not to notice, and concentrated on the road.

She had been driving for about an hour, but was only just beginning to calm down. She had, perhaps, been unduly sharp with Martha, but she was confident that she hadn't given anything away. If, indeed, there was anything to give away. She shook her head, determined not to upset herself. Of course there was…

OoOoOoOoO

The rest of the day was unbearably long for Joseph. The morning was spent on the phone to the French PM, arranging their strategy for the upcoming European conference that they would both be attending. Before he hung up, the PM apologised for the incident the night before…assuring him that it would blow over in a day. Shaking his head, Joseph accepted his advice, laughed it off…all the time wondering just how much he might have lost.

He skipped lunch and instead spent the afternoon berating several editors of the tabloids which had printed the rubbish. He insisted on doing it himself, but, instead of feeling any better, as apology after apology was heaped on him, he just felt hollow. What good would it do now?

At six, the car took him to the diplomatic airstrip just outside Paris and by eight he was taking off. Sitting back in the expensive leather seat, he gazed blankly out of the small window, watching the lights fade as they gained altitude. He'd always loved travelling…that feeling of transience, the nothingness, it made him contemplative. Now, though, he wasn't sure if he wanted to think. Part of him desperately wondered what he might say to convince her, part of him wondered if she deserved better. He felt lost and desperately guilty.

Arriving back at the palace just after eleven, he was pleasantly surprised to find it quiet and without press. Turning to Carlos, he raised an eyebrow,

"No cameras?"

Carlos nodded seriously, looking out of his window,

"I thought it better. I should have made sure last night."

Realising that his spirited aide was attempting an apology, Joseph managed a weak smile and nodded back.

As they walked up the steps, Joseph quickly debriefed his head of security and dismissed his immediate staff, explaining that he was extremely tired and would be going straight to bed. They dispersed almost immediately, and suddenly he was alone in the long corridor.

She hadn't met him, and he wondered what it might mean. Still he didn't know what to do, how best to approach this. He looked at his watch, eleven-twenty. It was late, but not so late for them. He wondered for a moment whether she might be waiting in the kitchen. It was doubtful, but this moment of hope carried him to the door and into the desolate room. It was gloomy, lit only by the small lamp over the door. And empty, hopelessly empty. He sighed, realising that it was his own fault. He should have called on the main line this morning. She could be anywhere.

OoOoOoOoO

Wandering aimlessly into his suite, he threw his jacket onto his desk and kicked off his shoes. He'd been stalking the corridors for the past twenty minutes, wanting to go to her room, knowing he had no right. In the end, he had arrived back where he had started.

He was properly exhausted now and the dull ache in his head had continued to grow. The guilty sickness that had churned in his stomach since morning had now tightened into a genuine fear that it might be over, that he might have hurt her more than she could forgive him.

The moonlight was streaming through the parted curtains and fell onto the foot of his bed. In the shadows he stripped off his remaining clothes and pulled his pyjamas from their drawer. Too drained even to make it to the bathroom, he slipped them on and pulled back the heavy counterpane, sliding noiselessly into bed.

The moon had disappeared behind a cloud and the room was dark. Closing his eyes he sighed deeply, his breath a little shaky. He turned a little onto his side, facing his bedside table, noting with a certain sense of irony the time, nearly midnight. Last night he had gone to bed so contented, so entirely looking forward to precisely this moment. As his eyes slid shut again, tears trickled softly down his cheeks, and, curling up into the pillow, he couldn't help but let out a sob.

Instantly, he felt the hand come to rest on his shoulder, soothing him gently, sweeping down to his elbow. Too dazed to be startled, he simply relaxed against her touch as her hand made it down to his own, her body coming to press against his, her lips finding his neck.

For a moment he said nothing, fighting to keep his composure, to steady his breathing. She kissed his neck gently, her fingers caressing his, wrapping their arms around his waist. Finally he spoke,

"Darling?"

She smiled, nuzzling his ear with her nose,

"I bet you say that to all the girls…"

He smiled and turning carefully to face her was struck by her expression. Her eyes held his, unfaltering, sparkling blue in the moonlight, and they smiled back at him. Running a hand tenderly down her cheek, he found his voice,

"I don't deserve you."

"Don't say that."

He kissed her forehead tenderly and wrapped both arms tightly around her, shivering a little as her hands moved under his shirt to stroke his chest.

For a moment he wondered if he might be already asleep and dreaming. He decided not. Then it struck him she might not have seen the picture… Swallowing nervously, he knew he had to ask,

"Darling…that picture?"

She nestled in further and kissed the exposed skin at the base of his neck,

"I saw it."

Running a hand through her hair, he gently eased her up to face him, dropping a feather-light kiss to her lips as he did so,

"Then I owe you an apology…I…"

Raising a finger to his lips, she silenced him. Kissing his cheek, she pulled him closer, whispering softly in his ear,

"I don't think you do."

"You're not angry?"

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and she smiled,

"Not any more…though I did nearly write-off my car."

Their eyes met and in an instant she felt his guilt, he saw her forgiveness.

She smiled again, tracing the outline of his beard with her finger, watching as he shivered a little,

"But I didn't. So no lasting damage."

Still he held her gaze, unable almost to process that she might not be angry…he hadn't even explained. She seemed to understand, and once again pulled him close, smiling as his arms closed around her back.

For a moment he was silent, but then curiosity got the better of him. Raising a hand to her hair, he began to run his fingers through it, closing his eyes as he savoured its smoothness.

"But darling…I…how did you know?"

Shifting a little, she kissed his chin, searching for his lips. Finding them she whispered softly against them,

"I trust you" She paused, kissing him lightly, meeting his eyes, "…and anyway, those boobs were most definitely fake. You have much better taste than that…"

As their lips met Joseph sincerely wondered what it was he had done to deserve this woman. Feeling her arms wrapping themselves around his neck, her body pressing tantalisingly against his own, he decided now was not the time to question fate.

Pulling back a little, he teased her with his lips, kissing her nose, her chin,

"I've missed you so much"

She smiled, gently nipping his bottom lip, then deepening the kiss until their breathing grew heavy,

"You have no idea…"

A/N Hope you all liked that! I'd love to know how many people are reading this (usual suspects are noted and hugged accordingly!) so if you have a mo to leave a wee review, that would be MOST appreciated, even just to say hi! Thanks, Nic.xx


	16. DoggyStyle

As she lay, much later, curled on Joseph's chest, her fingers gently stroking tiny circles, Clarisse wondered what time it was. The sun was beginning to rise, the light gradually creeping into the room through the sizeable gap in the curtains.

"Joseph, are you awake?"

It was no more than a whisper and, to be honest, he felt her breath more than he heard the precise words. Grunting softly, he hugged her a little tighter, kissing her forehead as he pulled her closer.

"No. I'm still sleeping."

She smiled, stilling her hand for a moment and dropping her lips to his chest. As she bit, ever so gently, he started a little, the sharp pinch quickly kissed away,

"Okay, okay, I'm awake…"

"I can't stay here all night."

It was a simple admission, not meant to imply anything, just a comment. Raising herself up onto an elbow she looked down at him, his eyes still closed against the increasing light.

"Joseph…"

At her whisper, his eyes opened, and he smiled gently.

"I'm listening…I just don't want to say the inevitable."

She smiled, shivering a little and snuggling back into his outstretched arms.

"Here's to ignoring the inevitable…"

He chuckled softly, and his laughter only served to set her off too. After a while though, her giggles trailed off, and he felt the question hang again in the air. Sighing audibly, he began to sit up, pulling her with him as he did so.

"Right…well, there's only one way to resolve this…"

She snuggled into his chest, too content to ask questions as he threw back the covers and moved to stand. In his arms she felt impossibly safe, and, in any case, she had a shrewd idea as to his plan.

OoOoOoOoOoO

As he clicked open the door to her room, and stepped in gingerly, he glanced across at the antique clock on the mantelpiece and groaned loudly.

"Hey, I'm not that heavy!"

He chuckled, lifting her higher as if to prove the ridiculousness of her insinuation, and nodded in the direction of the clock.

"Should I be pleased or annoyed that it is four-thirty and still very much the middle of the night?"

She smiled, kissing his chin as he set her down carefully on her own bed,

"Pleased. And annoyed that half the night has already gone."

He smiled back, slipping in beside her, shivering a little after his exertions,

"Gone, but not wasted my love…"

Turning to settle against him, relaxing as his arm came to loop around her, Clarisse could almost feel herself purring. Safe in the privacy of her room they might sleep until mid-morning before anyone noticed either were missing. Yes, the maids would enter the king's chamber at eight, but they would just assume he had already gone out for his morning swim. And no one would dare disturb her here.

Kissing her forehead, Joseph's thoughts were similarly engaged, albeit still tinged with the drama of the previous day's events. Still he couldn't quite believe how it had all ended, but he felt no desire to pinch himself just yet. As she moved a little against him, he found himself pulling her even closer, his lips coming to rest tenderly against her ear, whispering softly,

"I love you, my darling"

As if in slow motion, her face turned towards his, his lips brushing her cheek as she did so. Her eyes were open and, for the first time, he could see that her eyes were filling with tears. Instead of looking away though, she held his gaze, smiling at him. She made no attempt to hide her tears, and for this he was glad. He moved to kiss her lips, but she raised a hand to tenderly cup his cheek, holding him back a moment,

"Joseph…"

He smiled gently, nuzzling her palm,

"I love you too."

OoOoOoOoOoO

When she woke the next morning, Clarisse was intrigued to find her bed empty and the door to her bathroom ajar. The sudden splash of the shower starting both woke her from her sleepiness and solved the mystery. For a few minutes, she pondered if she might not join him, but then decided against it. As much as the inevitable would be fun were she to seek him out, they really couldn't lie around in bed all day long. Glancing at the clock, she noted that it was nearly seven. They still had time before they would be missed, but not much.

Sinking back into the pillows, she drifted back over the last twenty-four hours. Jesus, she'd been so angry with him…well, angry with herself at least. Thank goodness she'd had the sense to leave the palace and work through it all without the watchful attention of the other domestic staff. Not that there had been much to work through, in the end. In her anger she had missed a gear when taking a corner and spun out of control. Frightened by her lack of composure, the closeness with which she had felt danger, she had crumpled over the steering wheel and cried properly. Once the haze of anger had lifted and she had forced herself to look again at the picture, the headlines, it was clear what had happened. In a way, it was rather funny, Joseph sprawled out like that, crushed under that drunk woman. The article offered no explanation as to who she might be…it was suggested that it might be an escort.

After tidying herself up, she had taken the longer sea-road home. By the time she had arrived at the palace she was a picture of calm perfection and, she was confident, no one could have suspected the slightest thing was up. That afternoon, around five, Carlos had called from Paris. He had been careful to inform her that Joseph would not be requiring dinner on account of his foul mood and that she should probably give the staff a night off. He hadn't failed to mention that the pictures would probably cost their editors a pretty penny in libel charges.

Of course, she had already known that Joseph couldn't have done such a thing, but it helped to hear someone else say it. Digging her phone out of her bag, she had been alarmed to note eight missed calls. And all, of course, from Joseph. Looking at her watch, she had realised that it would be too late to call him now, he would already be in the plane. And so she had decided to wait.

On reflection, she was pleased with how her plan had developed, not that there had been much planning. Poor man, he really had thought that she had stormed off. As if she could leave him just like that.

OoOoOoOoO

Joseph emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped casually round his waist, about fifteen minutes later. She smiled at his obvious ease and momentarily contemplated putting it to the test by whipping off the towel. The good girl in her got the better of her though…this time at least.

Noting the mischievous glint in her eye, Joseph decided to try and distract her,

"So, my darling, what are your plans for the day?"

She considered it for a moment and then replied with a mechanical precision,

"Breakfast, then meeting at 10; ordering between 11 and 12; then lunch, yours not mine; between 2 and 4 I have to finish some rotas and sign the new contracts; and then from 5 until 7 I have a date."

He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into an amused smile,

"A date, my love?"

"That's right. I've met a wonderful young man, energetic and sprightly, who loves the chase…it really is becoming something of a long-term commitment."

Biting his lip, attempting as casual a tone as he could muster, Joseph pressed further,

"And, sweetheart, would I happen to know this paragon of masculine virtue?"

She giggled and wrapped her arms around to hug her knees,

"Yes, he lives right here in the palace. Though I warn you, he is getting rather protective of me."

"Do I know him?"

Joe came to sit down facing her on the bed, more than a little puzzled by her teasing.

"Yes, I think so, but he doesn't talk about you often. I think you rarely see each other."

Still she smiled conspiratorially, still he grew more confused. To begin with he had been convinced that she was referring to him, but now…?

"Is he good-looking, this young man?"

She chuckled, shifting a little closer and kissing him lightly on the cheek,

"You're jealous, aren't you?"

He pouted, and pretended to look uninterested,

"So, is he good-looking?"

She couldn't resist…

"Yes, darling, he is one of the finest specimens I have ever seen. Absolutely gorgeous. I can hardly take my eyes off him sometimes."

"Better looking than me?"

She bit her lip and desperately tried to stifle her giggles, running a hand over his bald head affectionately,

"Well, Joseph, he um…he does have more hair."

As their eyes met, he knew for sure that she was teasing, but he still didn't get the joke. Taking her face in his hands he kissed her nose and then looked at her seriously,

"So, my little tease, what do you do with this toy-boy of yours between the hours of five and seven? I mean, I'm not sure I like the sound of this…"

For a moment she looked defiant, and then it shifted into something else….seduction almost. Smoothing her hands over his own, she drew back from his firm hold and licked her lips. Sitting back on her heels she began to run her fingertips over his exposed neck and shoulders, trying not to smile as his shivered,

"Well, darling…first I ask him if he's been a good boy…" he gulped as her finger traced up to his lips, as she dropped a light kiss to them, and then her hand encircled his throat, "…then I fix on the, um, necessary equipment…" As her lips came to kiss his warm skin, she felt him swallow involuntarily.

"And then, my love…" she shifted, both her arms coming to wrap around him, smiling as his own pulled her a little close, "…then I tell him to take me where he wants to go…"

OoOoOoOoO

Another hour or so later Clarisse nudged Joseph gently in the ribs.

"Joseph…we really are going to have to get moving. It's getting late."

As she looked up, she was amused to find that he was already propped up a little, his hands folded behind his head, and that he was looking down at her.

"What?"

He smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair affectionately,

"Nothing."

She groaned and, kissing his stomach gently, sat up. Still he was watching her intently.

"What?"

Again, he grinned, and she was about to hit him when he opened his mouth again,

"Might I accompany you and Maurice this evening?"


	17. Walkies

A/N 'fraid this is rather short – but there will be more VERY soon….like tomorrow, if I can manage it.

At a quarter past five, Clarisse began to wonder what, exactly, Joseph was playing at. Although they hadn't agreed on a precise time to meet, she was pretty certain that it had been mutually understood that he would come and find her when he was ready. It wasn't like him to be late.

The sun was beginning to fade a little and, from experience, she knew that it would soon be getting chilly in the gardens. It was late in October now and the nights were drawing in a little earlier every day. She had already finished her pile of work and had started to make an impression in tomorrow's assortment. But now she was bored and, not to put too fine a point on it, a bit annoyed. Maurice would be even less impressed.

At five-thirty she gave in and went in search of the dog. As she had anticipated, he was waiting patiently for her in the hallway, looking rather on edge. Picking up the lead and one of his balls-on-a-string, they headed off in the direction of the back door. Wandering through the kitchen, though, she was surprised to find Joseph talking to the cook,

"Hmm…and the doctor had advised me to cut back on the salt, so if you wouldn't mind taking that into consideration?"

Cook smiled and nodded politely,

"Of course, your Majesty…nothing serious I trust?"

"No, no, Mrs Stone, nothing serious, nothing a dose of your good food and a little exercise won't fix."

At that point Maurice broke cover and bounded over to his master, licking his hand and whirling round his feet. Realising she couldn't exactly hide behind the door any more Clarisse stepped into the room and smiled politely.

"Ah, Ms., um, Renaldi, it would seem that you've beaten me to it, I was just saying that I need more exercise, and was planning on reacquainting myself with young Maurice here, but it looks like you've already got things in hand."

She smiled, a little awkwardly, suddenly extremely aware of the company. Glancing at the cook, and then at Maurice, she shrugged her shoulders, trying to look relaxed. Mrs Stone decided to explain,

"Ms Renaldi always take Maurice at this time, your Majesty, she's quite the walker…they go for miles!"

Joseph smiled fondly and Clarisse desperately tried not to blush. But the cook, of course, missed nothing. Eyeing first her monarch, then her boss, she smiled to herself. So that's what was going on…. For a moment she hesitated, not wanting to push her luck, but then changed her mind. For pity's sake, maybe they just needed a little nudge to get them off in the right direction,

"If you'll forgive my suggesting, your Majesty, why don't you both take Maurice?"

Her timing absolutely spot-on, Clarisse's eyebrows shot up and for a second she looked genuinely panicked by the suggestion. Then she smiled cautiously and seconded the idea. Joseph, of course, had little option other than to accept. And Maurice, well, Maurice was already heading for the door…

OoOoOoOoO

Once they were in the garden and well out of earshot, Clarisse gave up her fight to contain the giggles and laughed so much that tears came to her eyes. Between gasps she pushed Joseph playfully, setting him off as well. Eventually, oblivious to Maurice's extremely confused expression, they calmed themselves. Joseph was the first to break the silence,

"God, we're behaving like schoolchildren…"

She smiled, pushing him again, laughing as he stumbled a little,

"I know…isn't it marvellous!"

Maurice barked loudly, and for a moment the mood was broken. Reaching down for the ball, Joseph hurled it into the undergrowth and the silly mutt dashed off once more.

Turning back to Clarisse, he winked and casting a quick glance around for anyone else wandering in the gardens, looped his arm around her back, pulling her a little closer. Feeling her tense a little, he smiled gently and dropped a chaste kiss to her forehead,

"It's okay…there's no one out here, and I have no security cameras outside. The only one who will share our secret will be Maurice here and, as you've already made patently clear today, he has a terrible crush on you anyway."

She laughed, and turned to kiss his cheek lightly, looping her own arm around his back as she did so.

"Hmm…I think you're right, darling Maurice's lips are sealed"

She shivered a little as the breeze picked up and he instinctively pulled her against him, rubbing her back to warm her.

"Cold"

She smiled, not wanting him to suggest they return to the palace, but realising that lying would not work,

"A little"

He grinned back and whistling for Maurice, who, to his pleasant surprise came almost immediately, whispered in the dog's fuzzy ear. Tilting his head inquisitively, Maurice seemed to be considering the proposal. After a moment though, he barked and raced off into the undergrowth.

Raising an eyebrow, and catching his hand in her own, Clarisse looked confused. Smiling broadly though, Joseph simply tugged her in the direction of the woods, following roughly the path that Maurice had taken. A few times she almost tripped, her shoes not really designed for walking away from the well-kept paths and, tutting loudly, Joseph slowed down.

"Honestly, woman, I can't take you anywhere…unlike your furry lover, however, I can at least do something to speed this up."

With that he swept her up into his arms, for the second time that day, she registered with a smile, and they continued into the increasingly dense forest.

"Um, darling…where are you taking me?"

She ran her hand tenderly down his face, stroking his beard,

"Can't tell you, I'm afraid…it's a secret. Maurice said you would prefer a surprise."

She laughed and patted him gently on the cheek,

"That's ridiculous, Joseph, Maurice is a dog"

He kissed her nose, touched his lips to her own, but only for a second, and whispered back secretively,

"Yes, my love, _I_ know that, and _you_ know that…just don't tell Maurice."


	18. Joe's Place

After a few more steps they arrived at a small clearing in the trees, and Joe set her down carefully. Looking around for a moment, trying to get her bearings, Clarisse realised that they were in a part of the woods that she hadn't explored. In the clearing was a small huntsman's cottage, a ramshackle-looking affair, which blended almost imperceptibly with the trees. Raising an eyebrow she turned to Joseph, who was carefully attaching the lead to Maurice,

"This?"

Winking, he nodded. Still she didn't quite understand, and looked back to the rickety-looking hut. Feeling his hand find hers, their fingers instinctively interlacing, she smiled as he whispered softly

"Trust me, you'll love it…"

Stroking his fingers, enjoying their warmth, she let him lead the way….or rather, Joseph let Maurice lead the way.

OoOoOoOoO

Taking the key from his jacket pocket, Joe carefully turned it in the lock and stepped back.

Placing his hands gently on her shoulders he dropped a gentle kiss to her neck,

"Ladies first…"

Of course, it was Maurice who barged in first, but never mind. As the door swung open, a little stiff on its hinges, Clarisse was struck by the sight. The external dilapidation was entirely misrepresentative of the internal order. A beautiful room, cosy and yet beautifully tidy. Books lining every wall in what could only have been custom-made shelves, a huge leather sofa set before a fireplace, small modern sculptures scattered deliberately, an antique desk set against one wall, supplied, it would seem, with extremely high quality paper and writing tools. For a moment she paused in the door, unsure if she were more absorbed by the tranquillity that enveloped her or the hand stroking her back. Each were intoxicating, both were almost overwhelming.

"You can go in, you know…"

She smiled, leaning back a little, resting against his chest, feeling his arm slip around her waist.

"This is wonderful, darling…so peaceful. I never knew that this existed…"

"That's part of the point, my dear."

She stepped forward and into the room, all the time looking around her, taking in the details.

"Your escape from reality, Joseph?"

He shrugged, knowing that she already knew,

"Something like that…"

Maurice, meanwhile had installed himself happily in a large, well-used dog basket by the fireplace. He was obviously a regular visitor.

As if reading her mind, Joseph wandered to the sofa and gestured for her to join him. Taking his hand, she slipped down into his lap, curling up contentedly against his chest,

"Apart from you, Maurice is the only living person who knows about this place. It's his favourite place, I think. Here he can sleep all day and no-one moves him."

Clarisse smiled, snuggling in, picturing Joseph and Maurice having deep and meaningful conversations by the fire. For a moment they were silent, content to share in the peace and quiet. The soft snoring emanating from the basket soon signalled Maurice's departure from the discussion. Shifting a little, Clarisse moved to sit next to Joseph, taking his hand in hers once more.

"When do you come here, Joseph? I mean…I've never noticed you disappearing."

He grinned, patting her affectionately on the nose,

"Well, I must confess, I have got rather good at sneaking off unobserved…but you're right, I haven't been much lately."

Again, for a moment he fell silent, and she waited patiently, knowing he hadn't finished,

"I come here when I need to think, Clarisse…when I don't want to be watched. There isn't even a telephone here. The only way security know I'm here is if the key is missing."

She smiled, shaking her head a little,

"I know, I know, not exactly the most sophisticated system, but it suits me fine."

"So no need to think recently?"

Their eyes met, and he smiled at the playful twinkle veiled by her mock-seriousness,

"Not really…not that kind of thinking."

His face was serious now, and she began to wonder, began to understand,

"You started coming here after Elizabeth died, didn't you?"

He sighed, and, for a moment at least, his eyes fell to the ground.

"Yes…" he looked up, meeting her eyes again, searching them, "Do you mind?"

Stroking his hand reassuringly, she shook her head.

"Why should I mind?"

He frowned, unsure himself,

"I don't know…I just…"

He broke off as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, then pulled back to smile at his relieved expression.

"Tell me about her"

Again, he looked puzzled, and she ran her hand down his cheek and winked,

"Humour me"

Sitting back in the sofa, he closed his eyes, smiling as she snuggled back into him, and wondered where to begin,

"Elizabeth…Elizabeth was my best friend, nothing more, but nothing less. In so many ways we were the same…I'd known her since she was five. Both trained for a job that we would do. When she died I missed her terribly…I still do."

Clarisse shifted a little, and he brought his arm to lie around her, gently caressing her shoulder.

"It was never love, it was duty. But she was my wife and, apart from the odd argument, we were together for nearly thirty years. When she died…"

He paused, the pain suddenly fresh again, and Clarisse looked up. His eyes were distant, obviously remembering, and she sat up a little, kissing his cheek, bringing him back to her. Turning his face slightly, to kiss her back, she was pleased to feel him smile. Reassured, grounded almost, he pulled her closer and continued,

"When she died I suddenly realised that I was entirely alone. Normally you lose the one you love, and then your friends help you through…instead I lost my friend. I'd given up on finding love, long ago, but realise that you are, and will be, entirely alone…that's..that's."

"I know."

He looked down at her, the faint spark of recognition startling him a little. Nodding carefully, he continued,

"So I came here…we came here, Maurice and I, and we were lonely together."

"I _am_ sorry, Joseph…sorry that you had to go through that alone."

He smiled, running his fingers absent-mindedly through her hair, relaxing now,

"Don't be…I think it was good for me."

She looked up, raising an eyebrow, unsure whether he was being serious or not,

"No, really, I do. I learnt a lot about myself…if you'd met me before…"

She kissed his neck tenderly and nuzzled in affectionately,

"Don't even think it…"

For a long while they sat there in contemplative silence, Joseph realising that this was the first time he had spoken of Elizabeth since the funeral and yet, that this was the most at peace he had felt since then; Clarisse pleased that he had been able to talk to her. After about five minutes though, Joseph began to wonder,

"And you?"

"Me what?" She looked puzzled, but then it fell into place, "Oh, me…"

She hesitated, and he hoped that he hadn't pushed her. After all, she had known already that Elizabeth had died three years ago from cancer, who she was and, at least from the press and common knowledge, a little about her. As to Clarisse's ex-husband…well, he knew nothing. He had never been mentioned.

As Clarisse sat up, pulling away a little from his embrace, then definitively moving to the edge of the sofa, he was sure that he had made a mistake, and instantly regretted it. Opening his mouth to apologise though, she interrupted him,

"His name was Charles…Charlie…and he was an alcoholic."

Her eyes still wouldn't meet his, and she was gazing off into the distance, somewhere over his shoulder. Unsure of what to say, whether to touch her or whether to give her space, Joseph simply waited.

"And yes, well, let's just say that that little fact wasn't immediately apparent, but that it soon became glaringly obvious once we moved in together. And so I moved out."

He swallowed, still unsure, but desperately wanting to comfort her. This detachment in her voice, the blank gaze, the dry wit, it could so easily be interpreted as coldness, indifference. But he knew better.

"How long, darling?"

She looked at him now, smiling weakly,

"Two months…I'm afraid my track record isn't quite so impressive as yours"

He smiled back, reaching out to take her hand, stroking her fingers tenderly,

"You don't have to do this, Clarisse"

She smiled, understanding immediately, already feeling the walls starting to crumble. A tear slid down her face and she blinked, closing her eyes for a moment, not wanting to break down. As she felt his hand come to rest on her cheek, his thumb brushing away the moisture, though, she couldn't help it, and she leant into him, the tears so long contained beginning to fall.

Reaching out to wrap an arm around her back, pulling her to lie once again on his chest, Joseph couldn't help but hate the man he'd never met, just for a moment. Stroking her back soothingly, he pressed a firm kiss onto her hair.

"Clarisse…did he…was he violent?"

She didn't reply, but her arms held him tighter, her breathing distinctly shaking, and her shivering became more noticeable. It was an answer in itself, and the thought made him sick.

After a few minutes, her breathing slowed and the tears seemed to stop. All the time he had been silent, simply holding her, letting her cry. He wondered whether she had ever had the opportunity before. Lifting her face from his now damp shirt, she looked at him, smiling a little. He kissed her forehead, and stroked her cheek,

"Better?"

She nodded, wrinkling her nose,

"A little"

"I'll never let that happen to you again, I swear"

She closed her eyes, just for a second, calming herself, absorbing his words,

"I love you, Joseph…more than I ever thought it would be possible"

He met her gaze, his arms still hanging casually around her shoulders, and smiled, pleased that he had brought her here. She was relaxed, she had relaxed with him.

He kissed her then, knowing that his actions could speak more clearly than any words might.

In the basket by the fireplace, a sleepy dog began to wonder what time he might hope to be fed…from the activity on the sofa, it didn't look like anytime soon.


	19. Reservations?

"Joseph, what time is it?"

As Clarisse leant over to peer sleepily at the clock on the mantelpiece above the fire in his study, she realised that he had dropped off again. Shifting a little from his lap, slowly, so as not to wake him, she settled back into the other side of the sofa. Rubbing her eyes, amused that it was already two in the morning and that, for the third time this week, they had fallen asleep on the sofa, she stifled a yawn. He stirred a little, and she glanced over cautiously, smiling tenderly as he slipped back into the pleasant dream that he had so clearly been enjoying.

It was a rare moment indeed that she got to watch him like this. Entirely relaxed, and blissfully unaware of her scrutiny. Over two months had passed since that day when he had taken her to visit his hideaway, and still they continued to grow closer. That afternoon they had begun to share each other's lives. Each day it was easier to forget his title, his responsibilities, and each day she let him find out a little more about Clarisse. In truth, she was learning as much about herself as he was. He sighed a little, and screwed up his nose. Stifling a giggle, she kissed his cheek carefully, and settled back into the cushions to watch him a little longer.

Moments like this made it all worthwhile; the nervous excuses to meet, the painful façade of distance and professionalism that they were forced to maintain for the benefit of everyone else, the occasional stabs of…? Of what she couldn't decide. It definitely wasn't guilt. No, far from it, she regretted nothing. And nor was it frustration at their necessary web of elaborate distraction. The need for that, they both understood implicitly, both for his sake and her own. No, it was not Joseph that caused her these moments of discomfort. And indeed, that was precisely it. It wasn't Joseph, it was the fear of being without him. It was the fear that someday this might all end. On the one hand, she was pleased that they hadn't talked much of the future. Indeed, it wasn't as if she felt a young girl's need to marry and have babies. Hell no, that did not fill her with much enthusiasm… But the thought of something changing filled her with dread. It was as simple as that.

OoOoOoOoO

As Joseph's back began to object to his slumped position on the sofa, drawing him away from sweet intoxicating sleep, he was a little surprised to find Clarisse watching him closely. Reaching out and taking her hand in his, he smiled sheepishly,

"Looks like we did it again, darling…"

Grinning back, she nodded and pressed his fingers to her lips. Shivering a little, suddenly longing for warm blankets and his pyjamas, Joseph pulled himself up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"So, which will it be, your place or mine?"

Sniggering she elbowed him gently in the ribs,

"Well technically, your Majesty, my place would also be your place…"

Kissing her warmly on the forehead, he chuckled softly, pulling her round for a proper hug,

"Stop being so clever, missy, I'm being serious…"

She laughed again, rubbing his shoulders gently, realising that he really was a little chilled,

"Well, did you lock the door?"

He nodded, running his fingers through her hair absent-mindedly,

"And can we sleep in tomorrow?"

Again, he nodded, amused at her business-like tone,

"Well then, here it is. I'm far too sleepy to let you carry me all the way back to my room…"

Snorting, he freed himself from her embrace and began switching off the lights in his study. Turning towards the door, she picked up her shoes from where they had been kicked off earlier, wondering idly whether they needed resoling, when a voice broke her reverie,

"Hey…who said I was going to carry you anyway!"

She smirked, catching his eye as she stood up, and pouting remarkably well, shot back, not a little sarcastically,

"Because you're such a big strong man…"

"Right, young lady, that's it…"

In an instant, he had crossed the room and swept her up, swinging her round a little, just to prove the point, and then carried her into his bedroom, kicking the door shut with his heel as he did so.

OoOoOoOoO

The next morning, as he surprised her in the shower, Joseph suddenly remembered Pierre's imminent visit and, more pressingly, the fact he hadn't mentioned it yet to Clarisse. Picking up the soap to gently scrub her back, he decided he should do it while he remembered,

"Pierre is coming this evening, you know…did I forget to mention it?"

The slight tensing of her shoulders was unmistakable, but he chose to ignore it, at least for the moment. Turning a little, so as to face him, Clarisse raised an eyebrow playfully, and kissed his chin,

"Don't pretend, darling…you know full well that you didn't mention it…"

He grinned back cheekily, massaging her shoulders as he did so,

"OK, ok, so maybe not…but it's not a big problem, is it? I mean, just throw some clean sheets on his bed…"

She chuckled softly, wondering if he had ever stopped to ponder just who it was who pressed his pyjamas, and, indeed, ironed his newspaper flat in the morning, but decided not to enlighten him now. Reaching round to caress the small of his back, she simply contented herself with a gently kiss to his collarbone and shook her head in amusement.

"I was thinking I might tell him about us…"

It took a moment for the words to register properly, and then several seconds longer for their implication to be understood. Pushing back slightly, looking questioningly into his eyes, she felt that stab of fear again.

"Pierre's been on at me for so long now about how I should pull myself together and 'get a life', as he so delightfully puts it, I rather think it's high time that he gets an insight into why his old man's so happy…"

Feeling his lips descend on her forehead, intended to be reassuring, but serving simply to confuse her, she fought to keep her eyes open, her mind clear,

"Are you sure, darling? I mean, isn't it…?"

He lifted her chin tenderly, tilting her face up towards his concerned eyes,

"Isn't it what, my love?"

She scrutinised his expression carefully, understanding almost immediately that he held none of her reluctance, and so wondered if she was simply overreacting.

He kissed her chastely on the lips, and drew back once more, smiling inquisitively,

"…isn't it what?"

She smiled, instantly reassured as his arm swept round her back and pulled her against him.

"Nothing…I don't know what I meant…"

Kissing his chest and bringing her head down to rest there, she decided that she was just being paranoid. After all, it wasn't as if what they were doing was wrong. Not really. Hopefully Pierre would be happy for his father…he had always seemed so pleasant in the past. As Joseph's hand began to trace lazy circles on her shoulder blade, all thoughts of this being too soon left her mind.


	20. The Verdict

It was a little after two in the afternoon, and Clarisse was sitting in her office co-ordinating arrangements for the rotation of the palace linen. The sky outside was darkening rapidly, and, from the look of the black clouds creeping in on the horizon, they were in for another storm. Not that she particularly disliked the odd bit of thunder and lightening, but today she could have done with some sun.

She had spent the morning, or at least what was left of the morning after she had left Joseph's room, interviewing three new housemaids, and then planning the reorganisation of staff accommodation that took place every autumn. The new girls had seemed pleasant enough, all very young and excited by the prospect of working at the palace. They had reminded her of herself, all those years ago when she had first arrived at Sandringham. Still, there had been little time for nostalgia, and she had missed lunch in her anxiety to finish the room allocations before dinner was served.

Pierre had arrived in time for lunch, she had seen him draw up in his Porsche at the front of the palace from her window. She had been in two minds as to whether she should be there to meet him. Joseph hadn't mentioned it, and so she had stayed put. It was difficult. Normally, it was usual for the housekeeper and the head of security to meet the arriving royal, but today suddenly she didn't feel so sure. Somehow it didn't seem appropriate.

As the afternoon crept on, and the clock on the mantelpiece ticked its way towards four o'clock, she decided that it was time for another cup of tea. Not wanting to bother the already busy serving staff, she set down her pen and wandered down to the kitchens herself. The rain was falling quite heavily now, and the occasional crash of thunder echoed in the distance. It was strange though, the tension that had been spreading across her forehead since the morning had not lifted. Initially she had put it down to nothing more than the humidity and the stuffiness of her room. But now she wasn't so sure. Her shoulders ached and her skin felt a little clammy. It was almost as if she felt nervous.

Pouring the hot water into the teapot, she noticed idly that her hands were shaking a little. She smiled, refusing to accept that she could really be that on edge. That would be simply ridiculous. She looked up at the clock by the door, a quarter past four. Would he have told him yet? Again, she shook her head, and laughed at her own silliness. For god's sake, they were all adults, and in any case, it didn't really matter what young Pierre thought, it was Joseph that mattered. Picking up the teapot and pouring herself a large mug-full, she took a long sip. Instantly calmer, she decided to have a quick chat with Maurice and then to settle herself back in her office and finish off those damn plans.

As she walked down the corridor in the direction of Maurice's favourite afternoon spot (the basket underneath the back stairs in the East Wing, incidentally) she realised that the raised voice drifting out from the library was that of Pierre. The door wasn't exactly open, but, then again, it wasn't exactly shut. Swallowing hard, she wasn't sure what to do. Spying her from his perch, Maurice plodded over for a quick snuggle and, as she bent automatically to stroke the furry beast, the previously blurred words became clearer,

"For God's sake Dad, do you not think that you've got better options?"

Silence. Maurice groaned a little as she rubbed his ears, and he nuzzled her hip gently.

"I mean, Jesus, she's hardly of the right breeding…what can you possibly expect people to say if you turn up at engagements with her on your arm?"

She wasn't angry, far from it. There was no spite in the young man's words, just exasperation. She closed her eyes, torn more by the silence with which his judgements had been met than by any cruelty she might have heard. She knew that tears were beginning to well in her eyes, and to be honest she didn't particularly care anymore. She felt rather sick, and her headache was now almost intolerable. The room was quiet, and she just crouched there, not listening really, just unable to move. It was as if her mind were racing with thoughts, but she couldn't quite identify a single one of them. For a moment she wondered why she didn't barge into the room and tell Pierre that he was wrong.

Perhaps he wasn't.

She stood up carefully, her head spinning a little at the movement, and patted the extremely confused poodle on the head, looking into his deep brown eyes,

"Goodbye Maurice"

He looked at her, his head tilted towards her, almost as if he understood her soft whisper. She took a deep breath and turned, pushing the door of the library softly to as she left.

There was nothing to say now, not really. It was all for the best.

Back in her office she tidied the papers on her desk into a neat pile and labelled them clearly. Picking up the expensive sunglasses on her desk and slipping them into her jacket, she clicked off the light. Once in her bedroom, she seemed to slip into autopilot, collecting up some of her clothes and folding them carefully into her overnight bag. There wasn't time to pack everything, she would send for it later. Looking over at her small table and the stationary lying on it, she wondered for a moment if she should leave him a note, to explain. But she couldn't. There was nothing to explain and, even if there was, she couldn't explain it properly. Not sufficiently anyway. Slinging the bag over her shoulder and picking up the car keys, she turned off the light and closed the door.

A/N Dun, dun, dun…. OK, I know it's a cliffie, but hey, I'm evil ;o)

Question is, a) will Joe ever find his voice, b) will Clarisse make it out of the grounds before he catches her? and c) how good is the power steering on her Jag?

Review please! ;o)


	21. Enough

"Enough"

Pierre head snapped back from the window to face his father. Rarely had he heard him use that tone. The older man was still sitting at his desk, papers scattered around him, but his demeanour had changed entirely. As their eyes met, Pierre was surprised to see disappointment.

"Father?"

His voice was calm, and yet confused. After all, he had simply stated the obvious. Yes Dad was lonely, yes he was getting on a bit, but that was no reason to mess around with the help. Surely he could see the sense in that?

Joseph looked at the young man before him, and felt deeply sorry. Sorry that he clearly had not experienced such feelings for another person as he had for Clarisse, sorry that because of this he could not fail to see their relationship as nothing more than a fling. Part of him was angry, still hurt at the dismissive way in which the boy had sketched out what he saw, but that was beginning to pass.

He waited a moment, pausing to collect his thoughts. Pierre turned away again, irritated by his father's stubbornness, knowing that he was about to be lectured,

"Pierre…look at me."

Eventually he did, and, running a hand frustratedly through his thick hair, slumped down in the large settee.

"It's not that simple, my boy…I don't think you've understood quite the situation." He paused, not wanting to say too much, but knowing that his point had to be made,

"I love her, Pierre…more than anyone I've ever met before…yes, even your mother"

Pierre bit his lip, unsure how to deal with that particular revelation, and Joseph continued, his voice calm, but firm,

"I understand your reservations, really I do…but they pale into insignificance when set alongside the way I feel for Clarisse. I'm going to marry her, Pierre, and I'm sorry if you don't approve…I hope you will approve…but please understand, I will marry her with or without your blessing."

A long pause followed, as Pierre absorbed his father's words. Their eyes met again, and he was surprised to see the hope shining in them. The old man really was serious about this. He swallowed, still entirely unconvinced, but aware that he had no choice, not really,

'Well I suppose I'd better meet this paragon of virtue then…"

OoOoOoOoO

After Pierre left to change for dinner, Joseph wandered over to the window. This afternoon had gone badly, far worse than he had expected, but at least it was done now. He wasn't convinced that Clarisse would relish meeting Pierre over dinner, and he knew he had to make his mind up soon as to whether to ask her. If they all ate together, surely suspicions would be aroused amongst the staff, and he knew that she wouldn't be happy about that.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, the crashes of thunder echoing around the sky above him. He could see Pierre's point, he really could…but it was too late now. He knew that things would have to change, that they would have to talk about what she wanted, but whatever that was, he wanted her by his side. Glancing at his Rolex, he worked out that he had about an hour before dinner. Just enough time to find her and tell her how things had gone. That and, perhaps a little more overdue, to have a talk about their future together.

OoOoOoOoO

As he stepped outside the room, carefully pushing the door to as he left, he was unsurprised to find Maurice lurking on one of his preferred beanbags. That dog was so set in his ways that you could practically set your watch by him. In the mornings he would either place himself on the terrace, to watch the birds or, if it were rainy, inside the ballroom, next to the glass windows. Then, at lunchtime, he would trundle down to the kitchens in search of Mrs Stone and her leftovers. In the afternoons, unless it was warm, he would place himself just outside the library on the beanbag under the stairs. Like clockwork. Then, as Joseph went for dinner, he would follow him down the corridor and go in search of Clarisse. Of course, Joseph had never known this in the past, but their walks had become quite a regular occurrence. Little by little she had managed to persuade Maurice to go out later in the evenings, and now he was quite contented to wait until she had organised dinner before he bothered her for a walk.

Today though, he looked a little glum, hardly looking up when Joseph left his rooms and clearly not even thinking about following him down the corridor. Concerned that he might be unwell, Joseph knelt down alongside his beanbag, and ruffled his ears. He didn't look ill, not really, just a little down. Pressing his nose into the soft fur at the back of his neck, though, Joseph was confused. He smelt unmistakably of Clarisse's perfume. He eyed the dog suspiciously,

"Did you spend your afternoon with her, old boy, you lucky thing?"

Maurice simply groaned, and lay his head down again. It didn't make sense, he never moved, and it was way too early for his walk. She must have been here.

He sat back on his heels and glanced at the library door that had swung open once again of its own accord, the hinges clearly too loose.

"Jesus, she must have been here…"

OoOoOoOoO

As the rain continued to sheet down on the windscreen of the Jaguar, Clarisse began to wonder whether she had made the right decision. Not about leaving in general, but about leaving tonight. Since the moment she had slammed the door shut and dumped her bag on the passenger seat, tears had been streaming down her cheeks. She had been driving for about 20 minutes, probably too fast, and now she was getting tired. She still hadn't decided where she was going, knowing only that she had to get as far away as possible from the palace.

She wondered idly whether he might send people to look for her. She hoped not.

As the van on the other side of the road swerved, she barely managed to steer into the spin, the standing water on the road spraying up around her, making it difficult to see. There was a heavy thud, as the van ploughed into the side of the car, and then nothing.

The rain continued to fall, large raindrops dripping icy cold water down her face now as she slipped in and out of consciousness. The road was silent, too silent.

She wondered idly whether he might come and find her. She hoped so.

A/N There we go, another chapter, and in record time! Please review and tell me what you thought ;o) thanks.xx


	22. Rescue

Leaving Maurice to his moping, Joseph moved quickly down the corridors in the direction of Clarisse's room. It was dark outside now and the lamps in this section of the palace had not yet been lit. Tapping gently on her door, he waited. He hoped she wouldn't be crying, he wasn't sure if he could bear that. Still no response though, and he knocked again, this time a little louder, his knuckles tapping against the heavy oak door.

Silence.

He looked first to his left, and then to his right, back down the corridor from which he had come. It was deserted. Trying the door handle, he was pleasantly surprised when it yielded to his touch and the door began to swing slowly open. The room was as dark as the corridor, and, scanning the bed and the door to the bathroom, he realised quickly that she wasn't there. Reaching automatically for the light switch, he was dazzled slightly by the sudden brightness.

Her bed was neatly turned down, but the wardrobe doors were hanging open. Coat-hangers littered the bed, and about a third of the wardrobe was now empty. He felt his heart sink and his breath catch. Swinging round to look at the writing table by the window, his eyes searching for a note, anything that might give him a clue as to where she had gone, he felt the panic rising. This was worse than it had ever been.

For a moment he wondered what she must have heard, desperately trying to replay how the conversation with Pierre had gone, what his own replies had been. He knew her well enough now – she wouldn't simply leave because Pierre disapproved. No, she was stronger than that…but she was gone.

A loud crack of lightening startled him from his disjointed thoughts, and he looked out over the cold, black sky, suddenly lit up by the flash, that was somehow pressing at the windows. She was out there, in this oppressive night. He looked again at his watch, automatically working out how long she must have been gone…thirty minutes, it couldn't have been more, no, definitely not. He sighed, and looked out again at the rain. For a split second he hoped in vain that she might be hiding somewhere in the palace, perhaps down in the kitchens, or even perhaps in his room, his bed…but no, not this time. And it was all his fault.

As the clock struck the hour in the hallway, he seemed to pull himself together. He must go and find her, find her and bring her back. Once he explained whatever she had heard he was sure that she would understand. They had been so happy…they couldn't lose that in a single night. He glanced round the room one more time, and then turned and left, heading in the direction of the security room.

OoOoOoOoO

As the young paramedic leant over the unconscious woman in the now-crumpled black Jaguar, he was immediately struck by how much she looked as if she were sleeping. A half-smile curled on her lips, and as he reached his palm around her chin, down to the artery on her neck to check her pulse, she moved a little, whispering something. He bent his head, kneeling right down close to her face and brushed away a stray hair that was covering her face, willing her to open her eyes. Again she moved, her eyes flickering a little, opening partially, trying to focus.

"Joseph?"

He smiled, winking at her cheekily,

"No, ma'am, but I wish I were…I'm Steve. You've been in an accident, and we're just trying to find out if we can move you from the car yet."

She opened her eyes a little more, and immediately realised her mistake. The boy had dark hair and piercing blue eyes, nothing at all like Joseph. Dear Joseph, he would be so worried…and then she remembered, the sudden recollection forcing her to wince a little. He wouldn't know. He mustn't know what had happened.

She must have slipped away again at that point, because the next thing she was aware of was the rough sound of metal being cut. The car around her was creaking, and suddenly she felt the full intensity of fear. It was so cold. Closing her eyes she imagined that she was at home, warm in his bed, his body pressed against hers, holding her tight. Pain torn through her arm as the car moved, and she must have passed out again.

OoOoOoOoO

Having been persuaded quite strongly by his security staff that he could not leave the palace alone, in an unescorted car, in the middle of a serious storm, Joseph had finally consented to going out with two of his drivers in one of the spare security vehicles. There was only one route out of the palace grounds and, for at least an hour of driving or so, there really was only one way she could have gone.

As he tried to relax back into the leather seat in the back of the car, Joseph attempted to keep calm. He was amazed how easy it had been to convince the guards that he had upset Clarisse, with some pettiness or other, and that he was now, as a good employer, concerned with her wellbeing. They had been a little taken aback by his insistence to accompany them, but, and he was sure of this, they must simply have put it down to one of his eccentricities.

About twenty minutes into the journey, Mike, the guard who wasn't driving, took a call on the radio. From his seat, Joseph couldn't make out the message, and leant forward to ask. The look that the two guards exchanged left him in no doubt. He swallowed, unable for a moment to process the image, the idea even that something might have happened, that she might… For the remaining minutes, before they reached the police roadblock, he was silent, his head in his hands. Mike decided not to ask.

OoOoOoOoO

As Steve saw the black, heavily armoured car approach he raised an eyebrow. Turning back to the beautiful women, now sedated and being strapped carefully to a gurney, he smiled. Perhaps her prince came after all… He was just taping the IV tube to her good arm when he heard hurried footsteps rushing towards him.

OoOoOoOoO

As soon as the car had stopped, Joseph had got out and begun making his way to the wreckage. He seemed to be in some kind of trance, still not believing, still not accepting that this was real. He saw her car, flipped over and smashed on the passenger's side. The pieces of cut metal strewn over the road sparkled in the rain and the flashing lights of the ambulances.

Then he saw her.

Later he would wonder if his reaction had been based upon any kind of conscious decision, but now he simply ran to the ambulance, forgetting any kind of disinterested pretence, pushing past the few policemen still at the scene, and through to her side.

Her eyes were closed, and he suddenly felt sick, his stomach chilled and his hands began shaking violently. Reaching out to touch her, he looked desperately at the young man who was fixing in the tubes.

OoOoOoOoO

Glancing up, Steve couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. 'Joseph' Right. So that would be Joseph, King of Genovia. Jesus Christ…

But he composed himself remarkably well, and smiled faintly, lowering his voice to a discreet whisper,

"She'll be alright, you know, your…um…"

As the older man reached out and cupped the woman's cheek, barely caressing the skin, but with an intimacy that was undeniable, Steve smiled again.

"She's broken her ankle and her arm, and she has concussion, but she should be fine in a few weeks, don't worry…"

For the first time since he had kissed her goodbye that afternoon, Joseph smiled properly, nodding his understanding to the young paramedic. Never taking his eyes from her face, he lowered his voice, so only Steve could hear,

"This beautiful woman is going to be my wife one day…thank you for looking after her."

Again Steve smiled broadly and winked at the King, tapping his nose as he did so.

"It's okay, your majesty, I shan't tell…and, incidentally, between you and me…I think she'll say yes."

A/N OK, so what did you lovely people think of that one?


	23. Coming Round

As she began to open her eyes, Clarisse was faintly aware of a light pressure on her good arm. Blinking a little, even in this dim light, she was surprised to realise that she was finally inside, back in her own bed, propped up against a pile of pillows. She could almost still feel the cold rain on her face, and she moved to lift her left palm to her cheek. Wincing instantly at the pain, she bit her lip and kept still. Finding that she could move her head without too much discomfort, she titled her chin down to look at the man bent over and sleeping, his hand tenderly holding hers, his forehead resting lightly against her arm.

Joseph.

Lifting her head back up, she swallowed hard and closed her eyes, the tears that had threatened to fall now cascading down her cheeks. But it was not at the pain that caused them, not the physical pain at least. He shifted slightly, caressing her fingers a little as he did so, and she shivered. She closed her eyes again, unsure yet whether she was trying to forget that afternoon, or just giving in to the comfort of his touch one last time.

OoOoOoO

As his back began to ache, Joseph woke from his fitful sleep. Almost all night he had been by her side, he had only reluctantly left her for a few moments, when they had arrived back at the palace, to tell Pierre what had happened. They had exchanged few words, both still shaken by the events of the evening and the lingering discomfort of their earlier conversation. Pierre had understood when Joseph had insisted upon missing dinner and staying by her side. He had nodded discreetly, and promised to do the necessary with the staff. It was amazing that he had been able to bring her home so soon but, with the palace doctor in residence and her injuries just peripheral, they had decided she would be more comfortable here.

It was just after two in the morning now, and her room was in semi-darkness, lit only by the small table lamp by the window. The storm was still raging outside, the occasional flash of lightening illuminating the room. He shifted a little, his hand still gently clasping hers, and moved to cautiously sit up. He was stiff, and his back protested painfully at the change of position, but he sat up nonetheless. To his surprise, she was looking down at him. There was a flash of light, and he couldn't help but see the tears sparkling on her cheeks.

OoOoOoO

As she closed her eyes again, she felt the warm pressure of his palm caressing her cheek. Without wanting to, she leant into his touch, savouring the gentle caress. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper,

"Joseph?"

It wasn't even really a question…not a question that implied doubt as to who he might be, in any case. Rather it was a question to herself.

His finger traced tenderly down her nose, and she felt his lips press against her cheek. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, knowing full well that this illusion could not last forever.

"Joseph…"

He smiled, his eyes full of the sincerest concern, and he moved closer still.

"I…"

She began, but then lost herself, her words once more revealing themselves as entirely insufficient. He pressed his finger to her lips, and shook his head,

"I'm sorry my love…sorry for everything, sorry for all the things that you must have heard, all the conclusions you must have drawn…I…" He looked at her, a little breathless, desperate to convey the depth of his regret and concern, "I told him, you know…I told him everything."

She nodded carefully, wondering if she could trust her voice,

"But Joseph…he was right. I mean, he is right…all those things he said. It's just what everyone else will say."

He looked up at her again, and took her good hand in his own, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing them lightly. He smiled then, and shook his head a little,

"But darling…I simply don't care."

For a moment he wondered if she had heard. Her face was blank, her eyes almost expressionless. Dropping her hand, he placed his palms either side of her face and looked deep into her eyes.

"Clarisse…darling…I love you, and I always will, no matter where you run to, no matter what everyone else might say. I'm sorry, I just can't help that."

Still she looked at him, the tears now streaming down her cheeks, unable to speak yet. Her mind was spinning, his sudden confession and unquestionable devotion catching her unawares. She looked down at her arm, the cast on her wrist suddenly feeling heavy, and she remembered hearing his voice as they had lifted her into the ambulance. She couldn't remember what his words had been, but she couldn't forget how safe she had suddenly felt knowing he was there.

"Clarisse…"

She looked up, her eyes once again meeting his, and nodded. It was only a slight movement, but it was enough. His expression visibly softened, and he slid his hands from her face and wrapped his arms carefully around her back. She couldn't really move very far, but she buried her forehead in his shoulder and gently stroked his back with her good arm.

Another bolt of lighting and the inevitable answering rumble of thunder rattled the windows, and he jumped a little at the noise. Pulling back slightly, tilting her chin so as to look at him, she caught his eye. He smiled, and pulling her back into his firm embrace, pressed a kiss to her hair,

"No…I don't like storms."

She smiled against him, and mumbled a sleepy response, the sedatives suddenly catching up on her,

"Really?"

"Really…I'm quite terrified by them actually, now we come to mention it."

She stiffened slightly against him, and then pressed a warm kiss to the bare skin above his shirt collar, her voice small and insecure,

"But you still came…even though it was me that ran away"

He smiled, his hand drifting up to run through her now dried hair, pressing her closer still.

"Of course I came. I'll always come…"

OoOoOoO

As dawn broke, neither Clarisse nor Joseph noticed the heavy oak door of her bedroom ease tentatively open. Neither had any idea that they had an observer to their contented sleep.

Looking discreetly through the crack of the door, Pierre couldn't help but be warmed by the sight. Clarisse was still propped up, and her ankle was slightly elevated, but now she was resting against his father's chest, her head turned to nestle under his chin, and his arm curled protectively around her. He had to admit they both looked extremely peaceful and, in spite of the night's traumatic events, at ease in each other's arms.

As he closed the door quietly behind him, he couldn't help but wonder if he might have overreacted before. That said, breakfast must come first, and any appropriate apologies later – at least now he would have the opportunity to make them.

A/N Woohoo, so I didn't kill her off… ;o) Let me know what you thought, pretty please!


	24. Interrogation

Sat in King Joseph's office, her manicured finger tracing the words as she read aloud from the draft plan for the King of Spain's imminent visit, Sophia Motaz realised that for the third time that morning, her esteemed monarch was no longer paying any attention. She smiled to herself as he gazed idly out of the window. Following his eyes, she was amused to see Mrs Stone, the cook, being dragged forcibly around the rose garden by the rather wilful Maurice.

"Joseph?"

Still he was in a daze, and she set her pen down. For six years now she had been the prime minister of Genovia and never in all that time had she seen him so entirely distracted.

"Earth to Joseph?"

He grinned, and drew his eyes back from the window. As their eyes met she raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry"

She smiled, and nodded her acceptance, but instead of starting the paragraph again, she dropped the pile of papers to the coffee table between them, and lounged back into the seat. For a moment she watched him, then took a long sip of coffee from the mug now cradled in her palm. Raising her eyes once more to his, she decided to go for broke,

"So come on then, what's her name?"

For a split second he was caught off guard – having slept most of the night curled over the edge of Clarisse's bed not helping matters – and his mouth dropped tellingly open. Recovering quickly, though, he looked back outside,

"I don't know what you're talking about"

She grinned to herself, knowing instantly that the nerve had been touched.

"Come on, out with it…you've been like this for weeks. And today you look like shit. So…either she's dumped you, or something's up. Spill."

He turned back at her and shook his head in amusement. Sophia was one of his oldest friends, indeed, she had been Elizabeth's best friend. Of course she had seen through him. He sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to bring some life to his weary eyes. She was still looking at him when he opened them again, and nodded for him to continue. Resistance was pointless now…

"OK, well, yes…something like that. Though I can assure you that I'm not dumped."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling as she sat back to enjoy the gossip,

"But it's difficult…there may be some issues…"

Again she raised an eyebrow,

"When aren't there with you?"

He chuckled then, and decided to tell her everything…

* * *

As he crept carefully into Clarisse's room just before lunch, he was pleased to see that she was still sleeping soundly. Sitting down on the chair by her bed, he placed his hand gently on hers, and stroked her fingers lightly. She moaned slightly, and turning her head to face him, her eyes opened sleepily,

"Good morning…"

He grinned, kissing the back of her hand,

"Afternoon…"

She groaned, and he chuckled.

"How are you feeling?"

She attempted a smile, and cautiously lifted her injured arm a little, wincing as she did so,

"Like a truck ran into me…"

He kissed her forehead and, brushing her hair away from her face, ran his hand up to cup her cheek. His warm breath again her skin made her shiver a little, and she brought her good hand up to rest on his shoulder. He smiled, his eyes lighting up as she smiled back sleepily, and he hugged her carefully.

"Promise me you'll try and sleep a little longer?"

He pulled back and looked at her, the concern still self-evident,

"Yes, doctor…"

He grinned, and she settled back into the pillows.

After making sure that she had a fresh glass of water and a book if she woke up, he moved towards the door.

"Will you come back later?"

Her voice was small, still insecure in spite of everything. He turned, his hand still resting on the door frame,

"Of course…I'll come and see you as soon as I can slip away."

She smiled and he had to fight the urge to sweep her up into his arms there and then.

"Joseph?"

He turned again, pleased for the excuse not to leave just yet,

"Thank you"

Her eyes were closed, and it took a serious amount of willpower to walk out of that door. But lunch would be ready...and she needed to sleep. Tonight...tonight they would get to talk.

a/n OK, this one was v.v. short, but I've been working out the plot and it took a lot longer than I planned. This one's just really a bit of exposition so things make sense later… next chapter will be longer – Pierre's apology; Sophia's visit to Clarisse; and Carlos' new boyfriend….hehe, not to mention Joe having to feed Clarisse dinner, because she's 'just too weak to manage'….yeah right!


	25. Visits

As he slipped into the room, carefully closing the door behind him, he realised that she must still be sleeping. He glanced at the heavy watch on his wrist and bit his lip…five-thirty. The embroidered curtains were drawn closed still, and only a small chink at the top let in any of the warm evening light. Not taking his eyes from her sleeping form, he gingerly pushed them back, blinking a little as the sunlight streamed in to the previously darkened room. She moved a little, and he turned quickly, pretending to look out of the window. Swallowing, he cursed his cowardliness, and turned back to face her.

"Joseph?"

Her voice was a little croaky, almost as if she'd been crying. Again he swallowed, and stepped a little closer,

"No, Clarisse…it's me, Pierre…"

His words hung a little in the air as she opened her eyes and slowly sat up. Her face was bruised a little, and a thin slash of a cut ran down her cheek. He looked back down at his shoes, fidgeting a little as he contemplated where to begin.

"Pierre"

She didn't say it with the malice he perhaps deserved, and yet nor was she delighted to see him. She sounded indifferent.

Looking back up at her though, he was surprised to see a faint smile hovering on her lips, and when she nodded gently, he knew what he had to say,

"…I think I was wrong about you….uh, I…"

She met his eyes and smiled properly, reaching out her hand to him as she did so. Stepping forward again, he took her hand carefully,

"I shouldn't have said what I did…I had no right…"

To begin with, Clarisse hadn't been entirely sure that Joseph hadn't put his son up to this little meeting, but now, as she scrutinised him closely, she was convinced of his sincerity. Smiling broadly, she released his hand and patted the space on the bed next to her. To her pleasant surprise, Pierre accepted and sat down cautiously, all the time leaning slightly aware from her.

"It's ok, I won't break you know…honestly, you're as bad as your father"

He grinned then, and she realised just how similar his smile was to Joseph's. Knowing that she might not have this opportunity again for a while, she decided to go for it,

"Listen, Pierre, it _is_ ok if you don't like me…"

He looked startled, and opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off,

"I mean, if I really deserve it, by all means hate me…but…well, just give me the chance to really wind you up next time…dislike me for what I do, not what you think I might…"

She smiled cheekily, and he understood. His customarily stiff upper lip softened and he nodded back sincerely. Yawning slightly in spite of herself, Clarisse settled back into soft pillows behind her.

Intensely relieved, and, it had to be said, not a little in awe of the control of the woman before him, Pierre began to stand,

"You're tired…you should sleep. I won't disturb you any more."

Her hand was still clasped in his, and as he smiled his relief, she squeezed it gently.

"I'm fine…it's nothing serious. I'll soon be back on my feet."

He nodded, holding her gaze more confidently now, and realised why his father had fallen so hard. She was lovely.

* * *

It was just after seven when her door eased open again, and this time Clarisse was propped up on a huge mound of pillows, and was happily planning her way through next week's menus. As the door creaked, she jumped a little and, biting back the slash of pain from her sudden movement, quickly secreted the papers under the covers before the visitor could see them.

To her surprise, though, it was not the man she had expected, but Sophie Motaz, the Prime Minister. They had met several days after Clarisse had first arrived and, since that moment, had always taken a moment or two to say hello when they passed each other in the many corridors of the palace. But she had hardly expected to see her in these circumstances…

"Clarisse!…oh my dear, and your poor car!"

Clarisse grinned broadly and shook her head. Honestly….that woman. She installed herself in the chair next to the bed, and kicking off her shoes, stretched out her legs. Still bemused, Clarisse couldn't help but watch her.

"So, come on then, tell me what happened? Was it as scary as Joseph described it, or was he just being a drama queen?"

Trying desperately to put the image of Joseph as a drama queen out of her head, and to retain some kind of composure, Clarisse sighed loudly and closed her eyes.

"Well, yes, it wasn't exactly an experience I'd like to go through again…"

Sophie smiled, amused as Clarisse tailored her words carefully,

"Hmm…but it must have been exciting as well though. I mean, Joseph was telling me all about the cute emergency man who looked after you…"

"Really? I don't remember…"

Laughing loudly, Sophie nudged her gently on her good arm,

"Ah…but Joe definitely does!"

Opening her eyes and turning to look at her teasing friend, Clarisse attempted her best glare,

"And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Raising her eyebrows and giggling a little, Sophie shook her head,

"Oh no, nothing…nothing at all."

Unsatisfied, Clarisse just groaned a little and lay back down on her pillows. Sneaking a glance at her, Sophie decided to have another tease,

"I do have _some_ gossip though…"

Sitting up probably quicker than was strictly necessary, Clarisse winced in pain.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing…just something about the lusty affairs of the palace staff. Apparently there's been a bit of a romance going on that, for reasons best known to them, was kept quiet…I just found out this afternoon when I was talking with Joseph."

Feeling a little queasy, whether from her medication, or the flippant way in which the whole thing threatened to spill out, Clarisse could only look quizzically at her friend. Deciding to put her out of her misery, Sophie smiled broadly and leant over to whisper discreetly,

"It turns out that Carlos has a new boyfriend…one of the French security guards he met on that last trip to Paris. Apparently Joseph has just agreed to appoint him to a position here in the palace and so they can live together…Carlos was practically dancing round the office this afternoon when I arrived! It's so sweet…"

Suddenly at that moment Sophie's pager buzzed and glancing down she smiled when she realised that it was her husband, Seb, who was wondering what she wanted for dinner. Not waiting for Clarisse's response to the gossip, she slipped her shoes back on and straightened out her cardigan. With a quick kiss on the cheek and a recommendation that she behave herself, Clarisse found herself alone again.

* * *

She lay still there for a good ten minutes, thinking over the afternoon's events, the shy young man who had, at least in his own way, made his peace; the ever-so-slightly crazy friend who had buzzed in and made her laugh. She thought about Carlos, and was pleased that he was happy. She could understand now how difficult it must be to have to hide your feelings for fear of other people's comments.

Turning carefully onto her side, she realised that the slight nausea that had accompanied Sophie's almost-revelation had dissipated somewhat and had left her feeling hollow. It had not been dread after all…indeed, she had just allowed herself to be excited about someone else knowing. When it had become clear that she had made a mistake, all that she felt was disappointment.

Closing her eyes, she heard the door open again. Almost inaudibly, she sighed. Surely not again…she was tired and hardly in the mood for any more difficult conversations. The warm hand that came to rest on her shoulder, smoothing tender circles, however, soon convinced her otherwise. As he knelt down by her bed, his arm slipping round to hold her, she felt a gentle kiss come to land on her forehead. Opening her eyes, she smiled. Pulling back slightly to look at her, he tapped her gently on the nose.

"You look tired…"

She sighed, and kissed his finger,

"You don't miss a thing, do you?"

Shaking his head, he gestured to the tray that he had set down on the bedside table,

"Are you awake enough to eat something?"

She smiled, and patting the bed next to her, helped him up to sit next to her. As his arm came back round to hold her close, and she snuggled into his chest, he reached out and brought the tray of sandwiches to his lap.

"Would you like me to feed you?"


	26. Stargazing

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Clarisse fell asleep again almost as soon as she had finished her supper. Resting now against his chest, a smile working its way across her lips, she was most content. After replacing the now empty plate to the table, Joseph scooted a little further onto 'his' side of the bed, his arm coming round to once again pull her against him.

It was only a quarter to eight, hardly even dark outside, and yet he had to concede that even he was feeling a little tired. The day's events had been draining…indeed, to be entirely honest, he had rather been on auto-pilot. His brain still hadn't entirely processed last night's events. A cold tingle ran down his spine and unconsciously he held her a little closer. No, that feeling of utter hopelessness was still painfully fresh. Last night, as he had run to the wreck, he had been sure that it was too late, that he had lost her. For a moment, he too had been lost, not knowing what to do, who to call on. Any sense of control had floated away and all he could do was stare at her, willing her to open her eyes.

He swallowed, looking down once more as if to reassure himself that she were really there, and slowly wiped his eyes. In the end, she had been extremely lucky. The damage to her wrist would heal in time and, in spite of the large strapping around her ankle, it wasn't actually broken. She stirred slightly and turned a little in her sleep, her face coming to rest on his arm. As his fingers brushed her hair back from her face, he couldn't help but wince at the harsh red slash that started in her hairline and ran down almost to her jaw. It wasn't deep, but it cut him nonetheless. Tracing his finger lightly down the line, she stirred again and, blinking slightly in the soft light of the bedside lamp, smiled up at him.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to wake you"

She twisted a little more, coming to look straight up at him, and gently brought her finger to his lips,

"It's ok…I never meant to fall asleep."

He smiled back at her and taking her hand in his, brought her fingers to his lips.

"Yes, but you do look beautiful when you're asleep"

As she snuggled in closer, taking care not to move her wrist too much, he dropped a kiss to her forehead.

* * *

After a while, his back beginning to grow a little stiff, he tenderly lifted her from his chest, careful this time not to wake her again, and laid her back onto the soft pillows. Sliding gingerly off the bed, he wandered over to the window and pushed open the curtains. In stark contrast to the night before, the sky was beautifully, almost ethereally clear, and the stars were clearly visible. Quietly opening the door, he stepped out onto the balcony and took a deep breath. The air was hardly warm, but it did wonders in clearing his head. Leaning against the balcony, he felt his eyes slide shut, his breath floating out into the calm night air in a long sigh. He heard the sound of a voice in the distance and realised that it must be Carlos. He was wandering around the palace gardens chatting animatedly into his cell phone. From time to time he would spontaneously break into French, and Joe had little doubt as to the caller on the other end. He smiled, shaking his head a little. Carlos, for all his little irritations really had become something of an adopted son to him, especially since neither of the boys lived at home. He was glad that he had had the courage to tell him about Hugo and had trusted him enough not to hesitate.

A couple of minutes passed and eventually the excited young man's voice had all but vanished. Once again Joseph sighed and began to pace around. His seeing Carlos had involuntarily reminded him of something that Sophia had said earlier that afternoon. Once she had finally got all the details from him regarding Clarisse, she had sat back and stared at him for a long time. For a moment or two, he had feared that she might in some way be angry, might, out of some lingering loyalty to Elizabeth, object to him finding someone. Of course, he couldn't have been more wrong. After a few more moments had passed, her face lit up in a broad smile and she let out a hearty laugh.

"So are you planning on whisking up the aisle anytime soon?"

On reflection, he wondered if perhaps she had intended it as a playful joke, a somewhat bemused reaction to his sudden confession. That afternoon, however, he had stumbled over his words, his regret at the situation clearly visible. Sophia had simply smiled and nodded with friendly understanding as he outlined the various obstacles…the public, Pierre, the implications for the succession, how it would inevitably and irrevocably change Clarisse's role within the palace. From initially having been so certain of himself, he had gradually dissolved in front of his friend. As he had begun to dry up, Sophia had taken another sip of her now-cold coffee and shook her head.

"You know your problem Joe…you think too much"

He had smiled ruefully, and raised his eyes,

"I've been told before"

Setting the mug back on the table and replacing the cap on her pen, she grinned.

"Correct me if I'm wrong here, but it seems to me that the only really significant problem here is Clarisse…"

He opened his mouth, his speech to Pierre still fresh on his lips, but she cut him off,

"No, wait, not like that, hear me out…"

He relaxed a little, and nodded,

"Well, it seems to me, apart from the minor issue of Pierre, that the only person who is really going to suffer potentially here, is Clarisse. As for public disapproval, well, you've faced that in the past…she hasn't. The same goes for the palace staff and her shift in status. Forgive me, Joe, but she's the one who's running the risk here…"

All through her little speech, he hadn't taken his eyes from hers. Now, though, he found himself staring out the window…and agreeing.

"So what should I do?"

She smiled mysteriously, and noticing that Carlos was just coming through from the study, decided to keep things brief,

"All you can do is ask…"

Vaguely, he remembered that Carlos had then come in and had started clearing away the files they had been working on. Sophia had begun to move too, and winking discreetly at him, had struck up a conversation with Carlos.

* * *

Now, as he paced slowly up and down the long balcony, he felt almost haunted by Sophia's suggestion. She was, of course, and as always, entirely right. But with her advice also came an unmistakable sense of guilt. Could he ever really ask her to give all that she had up and risk everything on him? What if she never forgave him for the sacrifice she would have to inevitably make? What if he never forgave himself?

And yet, how could they continue in this way? Last night had been made doubly terrible by their faint attempts to remain professional, they way he had had to sneak into her room after the doctor had left…the way he had deliberately woken at five to leave before he was discovered. Losing her was unthinkable, last night had made that transparent…but could they continue like this forever? And, indeed, could he ask that of her?

Still no further forward in his deliberations, but unmistakably more chilled, he stepped quietly back into the room.

"Ah…so there you are. I was beginning to think I'd lost my hot water bottle…"

She was sitting up in bed, rubbing the last traces of sleep carefully from her eyes, and smiling contentedly.

"Sorry…I decided to take a little walk. I wanted to watch the stars for a while"

She chuckled, and shaking her head slightly, stretched out her stiff back,

"Honestly…not you too? I spend far too much time out there as it is. Don't you find it almost hypnotic?"

He smiled back, and she instantly registered the slight haze of seriousness in his eyes. Deciding to say nothing for the moment, she tried again,

"Still, looks like I'm going to have to go cold turkey for a while…"

He laughed then, and wandering over to the bed, consoled her with a gentle kiss on her forehead. As he sat down facing her, she leant forward and wrapped him in a gentle embrace. Kissing her cheek, he felt warmed instantly and pulled her closer.

"You ok?"

He nodded, brushing his fingers through the soft hair that covered her scar, and gently laid a kiss on her damaged skin.

"I'm sorry I'm going to be so useless for a while…promise not to sack me?"

He pulled back and smiled broadly, even the faintest hint of moisture in his eyes clearly visible to her,

"You're not useless…just a little less mobile. I'm sure I can think of something for you to do to earn your keep…"

He took her good hand in his and tenderly pressed it to his lips,

"…and anyway, I might grow to quite like you like this…"

She settled against his shoulder and looked up quizzically,

"Well this way, at least I know where you are…"

She flinched slightly, and he instantly regretted his mistake, her misinterpretation of his words,

"No, not like that, I mean, well…at least I'll know where to find you when I want to give you a kiss"

She buried her face in his chest again, and for a moment he feared she might be crying, but then she looked up. He was about to speak again, when she laid a hand on his lips,

"No, don't say it…you're right. I…I was thinking about that last night…when I was lying there in the rain, it was all I could think about."

She sat up, her face now level with his, and he could see the tears welling in her eyes,

"It was so quiet, Joseph…and all I could think about was how worried you would be. And then I realised that you wouldn't even know. It terrified me how that was somehow worse. I…I…I won't run anymore. Whatever happens."

His hand was now cupping her cheek and gently he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. When he spoke, his voice was soft and deep, barely more than a whisper,

"Promise?"

She nodded, and pressing her lips once more to his, attempted a smile.

"I promise"

He pulled back slightly, and carefully held up her injured wrist for inspection,

"How do you feel?"

She gingerly flexed her bruised fingers and stroked his hand, making him smile,

"Good…better anyway. My ankle still hurts, and my wrist is still pretty numb from the painkillers, but my back is much better."

He smiled mischievously, and, pressing another kiss to her injured hand, moved off the bed,

"Still want to look at the stars?"

* * *

Wrapped in a blanket and, most importantly, in Joseph's arms, Clarisse sat on the oversize chair on her balcony. The stars were as bright as the sky was inky black, and, in spite of the slight chill in the air, she was entirely comfortable. With his arms wrapped around her back, supporting her carefully, and her ankle propped on the small table, Joe was happy that she was safe and he was beginning to relax into the moment.

For a good ten minutes they sat in silence, each absorbed by their own thoughts. Every so often, he would press a kiss to her cheek or her neck, she would stroke his fingers, but they focused their attention on the stars. He sighed deeply, and Clarisse couldn't help but notice once more that slight sadness in his eyes. Concerned, she snuggled a little closer and played with the button on his shirt,

"So…are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

He stiffened almost imperceptibly, but being on his lap, she couldn't miss the reaction, and she pulled back slightly to look at him. He was still staring out into the night, and he gently pulled her closer, encouraging her to lie back against him. She did, and as she kissed him through his shirt, he found the courage to speak.

"I have a question that I don't want to ask you"

Had his hand not been slowly caressing the back of her head, holding her to him, she would have bolted upright again. Instead, though, she just tilted her head up a little.

When she didn't answer, he swallowed again, and continued,

"But I will have to ask you sooner or later…and since last night I've thought of little else."

She sat up then, and steadying herself against him, took his cheek in her palm, forcing him to look at her,

"What is it, darling…what do you want me to say?"

He smiled, shaking his head a little,

"What I _want_ you to say is hardly in doubt…it's what it might mean that scares me."

In an instant, the penny dropped, and their eyes met. Desperately, he tried to read her expression, but to no avail. For what seemed like an eternity she held his gaze. Finally, she looked away, and back out over the gardens.

"Oh Joseph…I couldn't do that to you…I simply couldn't…think of the press, the official nightmare, the politicians…what would the people say? Hell, what would your son say?"

She stopped as his hand came down firmly on her upper arm, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, regaining control.

Still entirely confused by her answer, Joseph tried to process her reaction. She was scared of what it would do to _him_? It made no sense…did she really think that he would care one bit what everyone else said, after all he had said the previous night?

"Clarisse…"

She looked at him again, her eyes still wide and a little stunned,

"Clarisse…forget everyone else." He paused, taking her hand in his one more time. "I want to know what you would say, not them…"

* * *

A/N Hahahah….evil cliffhanger! Not really though, I mean, I think it's rather clear what's going to happen next ;o) It took me ages to figure out how this might work and why they might get their wires crossed, so I hope you liked! Do leave me a review if you've got time. Thanks.xx 


	27. Yes?

He tried to smile as she looked away but it was no use. She shifted a little in his lap, and then lay her head back down against his chest. His arm fell loosely around her shoulders, pulling her gently closer, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head. Her voice when she spoke was barely more than a whisper,

"I don't know what to say, I..."

He kissed her forehead gently, steeling himself against her decision. She was right, of course she was.

"It's alright, my darling, I understand. That's why I couldn't ask you."

He sighed deeply, and felt his heart sink as she turned her face into his chest and started to shake. Unable to find the words, he simply brought his hand up to caress the back of her head, soothing her gently. God, he wished he might cry like that...

But she wasn't crying at all.

She was laughing.

Kissing his chest gently, she eased her head back to look at him, and smiled at his forlorn expression. Still not drawing her eyes away from his, she found his hand and brought it to her lips. A flutter of confusion, then hope. She smiled again, a little broader this time, and kissed his chin.

"What are you worried about, Joseph?"

Her voice was steady now, and before he could think clearly, he found himself replying,

"Losing you."

It was that simple, and the moment he'd said it, she understood. Still he watched her, uncertain of where she was taking this, still not exactly processing her reaction.

"And you think that by marrying me that you might?"

She paused, her eyes never leaving his,

"Forgive me, my dear, but might that not also be said of not marrying me?"

Her fingers were still caressing his own, carefully soothing the confrontation implicit in her words.

He nodded slowly, unsure what to say, but suddenly feeling uncomfortably silent,

"And so, Joseph, my love..." she kissed his hand again, "...what do you think I should say?"

He smiled wryly, and looked out over the darkened gardens,

"You should say, 'Joseph, marrying you would be potentially the worst mistake of my life'."

She grinned to herself. His honesty was astounding at times, as was his concern for her. She remembered the first time that he had kissed her and how he had escorted her home. He had been so confident, so entirely in control. She had sat in his lap, as nervous as a schoolgirl, and he had respected her from the beginning. He had taken an enormous risk.

As he looked out at the stars, he wondered how this might work. Perhaps he could somehow arrange for Clarisse to be moved closer to his suite. That would at least reduce the possibility of either of them being caught like that. And now that Pierre knew, well, he could trust him to keep quiet. It was just...

There was a soft knock at the door to Clarisse's room, and they both instinctively turned at the sound. As the door swung open, in came Mrs Stone with a tray laden with what looked like tea and some cake,

"Ms. Renaldi, I've brought you...oh...what the?"

Realising her patient had somehow managed to remove herself from the bed, she began to glance frantically round the room.

"I'm out here, Mrs Stone"

Joseph stiffened beneath her, and his hand went instinctively to his brow, but it was too late, as the older woman stepped out onto the balcony,

"Oh, how in heavens name did you...ah...I see."

She smiled, and nodded at Joseph respectfully,

"I've prepared some tea for you, if you feel up to it, and, um, there is a piece of cherry cake from supper...if you...well, um...sorry to disturb you, I'll be in the kitchen if you want anything else, you know where to find me."

Clarisse smiled warmly, and winked discreetly at the cook,

"Thank you, Anna, tea sounds lovely. Will you come and see me tomorrow?"

Mrs Stone grinned and, with another quick nod to the seemingly distracted monarch, turned and left them alone again.

As the door closed, Joseph began to button up his cuffs,

"Going somewhere?"

He looked at her seriously, and kissed Clarisse's cheek,

"Come on, I can't just let her run off like that, the whole staff will know within the hour..."

"Your point being?"

The button under his fingers snapped off and rolled across the floor.

"My point being!"

Their eyes met, and, running her hand up his cheek, she nodded,

"Yes."

Her lips descended on his with such aching delicacy that he could hardly process her words. Tightening his arms around her, his hand holding her to him, he had all but decided that words were altogether overrated. But one stuck in his mind. "Yes". Before he realised, he had whispered it against her lips. She smiled, tracing kisses up to his brow and back, agonisingly slowly down his jaw, until she looked him in the eye once more,

"Yes"

"But..."

Her finger on his lips silenced him,

"I think we should have a go"

He kissed her finger, making her smile,

"And if it all goes wrong?"

She grinned, rubbing noses with him,

"Then I'll be an extremely rich divorcee..."


	28. Snuggling

Sitting back in the oversized leather chair behind his desk, Joseph sighed contentedly. Reaching forward for the bottle, he poured himself another splash of whisky. It was gone midnight, and he was sure everybody else would be sleeping, but for some reason he was having difficulty. He took a sip and smiled to himself. Not that he had anything in particular to complain about...

Propping his feet up on the corner of the desk, he took another suck on his cigar and lay back. This was the life. And who would have though it a mere forty-eight hours ago? Certainly not him. As his thoughts drifted back and forth, all the different emotions still extremely fresh, he found himself wondering about the future and all that it might entail. For once, he conceded to himself, planning would probably be of little use. Apart from all the standard announcements and protocol, they would have to play it by ear. He was in little doubt that the majority of the palace staff would already have some inkling as to what was going on.

He had stayed with Clarisse for a long time after Mrs Stone had left them. In spite of her tiredness, they had talked for several hours, he of his fears of her not liking the public attention, she of the numerous pairs of shoes she would now have to buy. She had been light-hearted and playful, but he had seen through it without much effort. It was somehow strangely reassuring that she felt as scared as he did. He smiled again, the apprehensive fading away as he imagined Clarisse in a wedding dress. Sipping the whisky, the warmth spreading through him, he wondered whether he would manage to entice her out of wearing a black one...

* * *

Turning again and yawning, irritated by the stiffness of her neck and the coldness of her room, Clarisse began to wonder if she might as well give up on sleep for good. She shifted again and, looking at the clock, all the while trying not to open her eyes too much, groaned loudly. Nearly one. She sighed, thumped the mattress with her good hand, and wriggled again. It was no good, she simply wasn't tired enough to sleep. Either that or she was too tired to even try. In any case, quibbling over the details wouldn't change matters. Clicking on the bedside light and wincing as her eyes adjusted, she took a deep breath and looked down at her ankle. Bloody thing...

* * *

Looking again at the huge grandfather clock in the corner of his study, Joseph giggled softly to himself. Already one. Jesus, he'd have to get to bed soon, or he'd be no use whatsoever come tomorrow. And he had so many plans for tomorrow... Draining his glass, he stubbed out the cigar and left it in the ashtray. He wasn't much of a smoker, not really, but tonight a little celebration had definitely seemed in order. Groaning a little as his back objected to the sudden movement, he stood and clicked off the desk lamp. Through the gap in the curtains, he could see the sky was still beautifully clear and the moonlight was more than sufficient to guide him to the door.

* * *

Struggling a little as she guided herself up into a sitting position, Clarisse wondered once again whether this was entirely a good idea. Gingerly swinging her legs over the side of the bed, though, and setting them down carefully on the carpet, she decided she didn't care. The cane that Mrs Stone had so thoughtfully left, should she need the bathroom and not wish for an army of assistants, was still propped against her bedside table and, as she reached for it determinedly, she decided that maybe this wouldn't be so tricky after all.

Supporting all of her weight on her good leg, she stood slowly. The cane was sturdy and although the first few steps were a little painful, she soon got the hang of resting her weight on it as she swung her bad ankle through. Having negotiated the door successfully, she allowed herself a satisfied grin, and began her way down the corridor.

* * *

Curled up in bed, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose, Joseph was reading. As he had feared, sleep wasn't exactly forthcoming, and so he had decided to cut his losses and drown himself in the delights of King Lear. In spite of Pierre's continual amused jibes and comments that it was hardly the most suitable work for a King's bedtime reading, he really did have to admit that it was his favourite play.

Propped up on several pillows though, he was beginning to doze. The words were starting to blur, and he kept skipping lines. Rubbing his eyes, he refocused, and started once more at the top of the page...

* * *

When she finally reached the door to his suite, Clarisse was really quite out of breath. Her ankle was now beginning to seriously object from the unaccustomed movement and the weight from the cast was definitely not helping. Still, she had made it. Looping the cane over her forearm, she rested again the door and carefully clicked it open. The main living room was, as she expected, cloaked in darkness. Knowing the layout as well as she did, the lack of light posed no problem at all and, softly closing the door behind her, she hobbled her way over to his bedroom door.

She smiled as she realised the light was still on, and the door ajar. Pushing it open though, she was unsurprised to find him slumped forward slightly, his glasses slipping off, and the book closed in his lap, his finger obviously marking the page. Trying not to make too much noise, she made her way over to his side of the bed. Sitting down carefully, she placed her cane on the floor and twisted to look at him once again. He smelt faintly of whisky and cigar smoke...she smiled and kissed him gently on the forehead. He hardly stirred and she slipped off the glasses and folded them back into their case on the bedside table. Removing the book from his grasp, she noted the page and set that down too. Glancing over at the other side of the bed, she decided that there would be ample room for her, cast and all, and she stood once more. Her ankle hurt even more now, and she half crawled, half hobbled her way around the bed and, finally reaching the right spot, slumped down into the heavy pillow.

"What the...!"

She jumped a little at the sudden sound and then opening her eyes smiled as she caught his horrified expression.

"How the hell did you...what about your...!" He rubbed his eyes, and taking a deep breath seemed to recompose himself, "Hello..."

She smiled again, and tried to sit up slightly,

"Hello"

He smiled back, his brain still fuzzy from having been woken so suddenly, and shifted onto his side to face her,

"Are you alright?"

She yawned, and shifted a little closer, bringing her hand up to his face,

"I am now"

Placing an arm carefully around her, he kissed her forehead,

"Couldn't sleep?"

She nodded, snuggling into his chest,

"Me neither...well, not properly"

He waited a moment, his fingers gently running through her hair,

"How's your ankle? You really shouldn't be walking about, you know..."

She smiled, her voice distracted and casual,

"I know. And it's going to hurt more in the morning...but I didn't want to sleep alone. I'm terribly sorry, but I may very well have to stay here for the next few days until I recover..."

He kissed her again, and tried not to laugh,

"How awfully inconsiderate of you...ah well, I suppose it can't be helped. I'm sure a prolonged stay can be arranged, though you'd better be warned, I may have to start charging you rent."

She smirked and, nuzzling him gently, asked in her most innocent voice

"But you're the richest man in the kingdom...what could you possibly need?"

He growled, and pulled the heavy counterpane up around their shoulders, sighing as her arm came to loop around his waist,

"I'm sure I can think of something..."


	29. Epilogue

Welcome to the last part...for now. I hope you all enjoy this, and thanks so much for all the lovely reviews. Do let me know if you liked the ending! ;o) xx

* * *

The pale morning sunlight was just beginning to creep into the room as Clarisse stirred. Wrapped up tightly under the heavy blankets, and Joseph's equally solid embrace, the icy cold wind beyond the fogged up window seemed a million miles away.

It was Christmas morning.

She shifted slightly, rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes, and smiled. It was extremely early, but she knew that trying to doze would be pointless. The contours of the room were beginning to emerge, and the snow which undoubtedly still cloaked the grounds outside leant the light an almost ethereal glow. The mirror on her dressing table glinted, the little coloured perfume bottles coming to life in the half-light of dawn. For once, the palace was almost entirely silent. Only a skeleton security staff, and a few kitchen assistants would be coming to work today, and none would be starting before eight. Joseph had been in favour of banning them altogether but, as usual, her commonsense had won out. They would spend the morning alone, and then they would share a light luncheon with Pierre and Philippe. Of course, it would be nothing so grand as the official Christmas banquet of the previous night, but that was hardly a concern. To tell the truth, she found large catering events rather stressful, far more so than when she had actually been in charge. There was definitely something worse about relinquishing control and relying on others, rather than simply working it all out for oneself.

The silence was broken only by the mechanical rhythm of the grandfather clock in Joseph's study, and the quieter, but equally rhythmic snoring which emanated from Maurice's basket by the fire. Poor Mo. He hated official functions, and tended to hide out in their suite whenever there was a crowd of people in the palace. Their suite. She still couldn't help smiling at that. After they had retired last night, Joseph had found him curled up in the empty bathtub, miserably chewing on a towel that he had 'accidentally' pulled from the rack. They had both been quickly forgiven though, after a few minutes of cuddles and a playful chase around the bathroom, and now the cheeky beast was catching up on his sleep.

As indeed, was her husband. Carefully extricating herself from his firm hold, she turned over to look at his sleeping form. He stirred slightly, renewed his grasp around her waist, and then relaxed. His face was calm, and his lips were curled in a slight smile. Kissing his chin, lightly so as not to wake him, Clarisse traced the lines of his neatly trimmed beard. His eyebrows lifted, and she pressed her face into the pillow to stifle a giggle. He growled softly, and murmured her name. Composing herself quickly, Clarisse looked up, but he was still fast asleep. Obviously last night's exertions had tired him out…

The clock in the hallway struck seven, and as she counted the chimes in her head, she wondered if she could bear to drag herself out of the warm bed to find some tea. Although far from inebriated, they had both enjoyed the wine last night, and she was sure Joseph would be as thirsty as herself when he woke. It would be useless to ring at this hour, and, to tell the truth, she rather liked the domestic routine of bringing her husband breakfast in bed. As if reading her mind, he licked his lips and sighed deeply. Smiling to herself, Clarisse made up her mind. The sooner she went, the sooner she would return.

Sliding her legs towards the edge of the bed, she realized that escaping his grasp was going to be harder than usual. He was fond of trapping her in a nocturnal bear hug, but this morning he seemed to be particularly insistent. Uncurling herself slowly, and setting his arm down carefully on the pillow, she held her breath. He groaned softly, and pressed his face into his now empty arm. Still sleeping. Turning to locate her dressing gown, Clarisse slowly raised herself from the bed. A deep voice filled the silence:

"And where the bloody hell do you think you're going, madame?"

Startled, she jumped slightly, and then turned back to look at him. With arms outstretched and a sleepy expression, he was a cross between a cute toddler, a gorgeous hunk and an adorable puppy. Of course, he was also the King of Genovia, the current President of the European Union…but those formalities only served to emphasize the innocence of his early-morning face.

"I was planning on getting you breakfast in bed…"

He shook his head, yawning as he did so,

"I can wait. Come here."

He pulled himself up the bed, and settling against the headboard, opened his arms once more. Not one to refuse such a proposition, Clarisse dropped her robe back onto the chair, and sunk happily into his embrace. They often sat like this, her back pressed up against his chest, reading the newspaper, arguing over the crossword. The familiarity was instantly relaxing. Nestling his chin into the curve of her shoulder, he pressed a warm kiss to her neck.

"Happy Christmas, my love"

As he spoke, his beard tickled her sensitive skin, and she shivered a little. Leaning back into him and pulling the covers up over her legs, she twisted to look at him,

"Happy Christmas, your Majesty"

He chuckled then, and playfully squeezed her tightly.

"Am I ever going to get you to stop saying that?"

She bit her lip, as if contemplating the request,

"We've been married nine months, and you haven't managed it yet. Anyway…", she turned to place her palms flat against his chest, pushing him gently into the pillow, "…you love the power."

He smirked at that, relishing the feel of her body so close, and was warmed, as always, by her carefree confidence. Moments like these had once been few and far-between, but now, day by day, she was relaxing. She had always been able to see through the pomp and ceremony, to see him for himself, but this playfulness, this ease with his responsibility and her own role, was new.

Although there were moments when her old insecurities surfaced, there were none of the violent swings of emotion that had characterized the early days of their relationship. Slowly, they had learnt to trust each other, and with this growing trust the almost overwhelming love they shared had become a comfort, not a burden. The night before, he had watched her removing her jewellery at the dressing table, and as she unpinned her hair, he been suddenly reminded of Elizabeth. The simplicity of the familar gesture had taken his breath away, and he must have sighed audibly, because she had turned to look at him. Moving to stand behind her, he had massaged her shoulders, reassured by her warmth, her presence. Later, when sleep would not come, he had watched her dreaming.

Now, as she curled up once again beside him, Joseph's fingers toying gently in her hair, Clarisse reminisced on the past year. Twelve months ago, she had been in England, desperately busy and achingly lonely, running a household of people who routinely forgot her name, passed-over by life, and worst of all, she'd accepted it. Coming to Genovia had been a ridiculous gamble - indeed, she still had no idea why she had applied for the job - but she had. And now she was married to the King, she had found her soulmate. The chances were one in a million, and she often found herself overcome by the thought…

"Is there anything you regret?"

His voice woke her from her daydreaming, surprising her a little. His hand was still caressing her hair, and she found it a little hard to concentrate on the question,

"That I regret….?"

"Yes. Is there anything that you would change?"

His fingers traced patterns over her scalp, drawing her head down onto his chest,

"Hmm….well, a few weeks ago, I would have said buying you a saxophone for your birthday, but you have definitely improved!"

He chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath her. Pressing a kiss to his skin, she smiled to herself.

"But seriously though?"

"I'm not sure I understand…"

He shifted slightly, his hand coming to lie at the base of her spine, caressing her gently, soothing her. When he spoke again, his voice was low and serious,

"Is there anything you would change about us…about this year, about…?"

He faltered, unsure how he should finish, and Clarisse stiffened noticeably under his caress. Lifting her head from his chest, she looked at him cautiously. Sweeping his hand reassuringly up her back, he nodded that she answer.

Looking into his eyes, she was surprised to see genuine concern, something not quite expressed, something that he wasn't quite ready to say,

"I regret the fact I had to nearly kill myself before I realized I could trust you. I'll never forgive myself for that. For putting you through that."

As his brows knitted, she wondered if she had said too much. Perhaps his question had been entirely innocent, and he had simply wanted reassurance? Maybe that particular memory was best left in the past? But then his expression cleared, and the smile returned. Taking her hand, and pressing a kiss to her palm, he shook his head a little,

"You saved my life that night, Clarisse."

Confused at his response, and trying to raise his spirits she attempted a glib retort,

"Don't be ridiculous…I almost gave you a heart attack! Dragging you out in a serious storm, running away like an idiot…"

Suddenly his expression shifted, and holding her firmly against him, he rolled her onto her back. The swiftness of the movement, the sudden flash of his often-concealed strength, surprised her. Gone was the playful teasing, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as his eyes searched hers,

"I'm not being ridiculous…That night you showed me what my life would have become without you. And it was worse than death. I can honestly say that I would have ended it all if you had…"

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing her tenderly, unable to continue. Relaxing under his unflinching gaze, she registered his words. His eyes now shone with emotion, and his honesty overwhelmed her,

"Ssh…it's okay. I didn't."

"But…"

"I didn't."

He smiled weakly, and she pressed a careful kiss to his collarbone, wrapping her hand around his neck, trying to soothe the painful memory,

"What's brought all this on now, darling? Today is meant to be a happy day, why all these negative thoughts?"

The question hung in the air, and his silence began to worry her once more. He tightened his embrace, and shook his head slightly,

"It doesn't matter…it doesn't matter any more'

Unsatisfied, she turned carefully, this time pushing him into the pillows, scrutinizing his face. He shook his head again, not to anger her, but in an attempt to reassure. Again, she held his gaze, her left hand reaching out to cup his cheek. Her wedding band glinted in the early-morning light.

Suddenly, as if burnt, she pulled her hand back and pressed it to her now-open mouth, the significance of the date becoming immediately clear, December 24th, the night of Elizabeth's death,

"Oh God…it was yesterday, wasn't it? I…"

He shook his head again, taking her hand, and pressing a kiss to her still-shaking palm.

"Clarisse, it's alright. I'm fine."

Unsure what to say, she pulled back slightly, all the time cursing herself for being so stupid. No, she hadn't been here last year, had never marked the date before, but all the same…she should have known. And here she was telling him to cheer up, to get into the Christmas spirit…

"Darling, look at me"

Again, he broke her from her increasing panic.

"I'm absolutely fine. Better than fine…in fact, I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life."

He hesitated, making sure that she was listening, and reassured that she was continued,

"For the first time in five years, I'm pleased it's Christmas, I'm pleased that I have nothing to do but spend it with my family, and I'm pleased that life has moved on. Tonight I won't have to drink an entire bottle of whisky to feel better, I won't spend two hours sobbing by a marble slab, and I certainly won't be wandering around the palace in a stupor at four am, wondering where my wife is."

Clarisse's eyes widened at his sudden confession, at the desperation he had obviously suffered, but she knew no words could change the past. Squeezing his hand gently, she could only acknowledge his honesty.

"And sometimes I wonder if I've asked too much of you, needed you too much."

As she held his gaze, Clarisse understood. Dipping her head, she captured his lips, and kissed him with a passion which left him in little doubt of her opinion on the matter.

* * *

Later, as he ran his fingers through her hair, his breathing now calm, his heart at ease,

"She would have loved you, you know…"

"Really?"

"Absolutely. She would have been stealing your shoes all the time."

She giggled, partly with relief, partly still processing the emotional turn their early morning conversation had taken.

"Are you alright, Joseph?"

This time there was no hesitation, and he smiled genuinely as he spoke,

"Yes…I wouldn't change a thing."

She smiled back, kissing him lightly, teasing once more,

"And neither would I."

The clock struck eight, and Maurice began to stir in his basket. Stretching his claws against the wicker, he yawned and padded over to inspect the couple in the bed. Rubbing his tired eyes, Joseph glanced over his wife's shoulder to look out the window.

"It's snowing again…"

She turned too, spooning against him, and shivering slightly at the scene,

"I do hope Carlos and Hugo have been shamelessly extravagant with the decorations this year. I didn't dare look into the front gallery last night…"

He smirked, knowing full well how awful Carlos' taste could become during the festive season,

"Oh God…I overheard them actually discussing the aesthetics of red candy canes against green bows on Monday, you know…"

Pushing back against him teasingly, Clarisse thought out loud,

"Well, at least we can guarantee they have arranged for large stocks of mistletoe…"

A rumbling chuckle behind her, made her shiver once more,

"I've no need for mistletoe…come here you…"

Realizing that he would not be let out anytime soon, Mo padded back to his basket, and, with a deep sigh, resigned himself to another hour's sleep.


End file.
